


Clan of One, Two, Three

by ICanFlyHigher



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Co-Parenting, Cultural Differences, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Ignoring the sequels, Lots of Mando'a, Luke and Boba have to learn to get over their problems, M/M, Post Season 02, Slow Burn, Tatooine Slave Trade, and Din needs to learn to use his words, or as slow as I can manage, references to the star wars extended universe, when you and the bros go on a roadtrip to end slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICanFlyHigher/pseuds/ICanFlyHigher
Summary: "You know,” Skywalker said, “the Jedi aren’t baby snatchers. The Child loves you dearly; it comes off him in waves. You’re welcome to come with us.”
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Boba Fett/Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Mentioned Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 267
Kudos: 1990





	1. Baby Snatcher

**Author's Note:**

> so who else was emotionally shattered by the season finale!! I've been a huge dinluke fan for ages so having them interact in canon was wonderful, but i hated how cold and detached luke mckindness skywalker was so I am fixing that and giving din grogu back. two birds one stone. instead of kylo as han & leia's child, i'm using han and leia's twins from the old star wars novels bc i've always thought they had waaay more characterization than kylo. 
> 
> Mando'a translations in order of appearance:  
> Alor’goran - Armorer  
> Manda'yaim - Mandalore  
> Mando'ad - Mandalorian (child of Mandalore)  
> ad'ika - child, can also be used as a pet name for a child  
> buir - parent

The deck was silent as Grogu slid free of Din’s grasp and waddled to the astro-mech droid that sat proudly beside the Jedi. The Child had always been comfortable around droids, regardless of Din’s discomfort; maybe because of IG-11’s soft, cold touch, or, Din wondered for just a moment as Grogu ran his tiny fingers across the droid’s metal casing, he recognized it from years long past. Behind him, Cara let out a near silent gasp.

“Skywalker?” She said, and the Jedi—Skywalker?—‘s face flicked to her. Grogu pulled on his pant leg.

“You know him?” Bo-Katan asked, voice wary, and Cara scoffed.

“He’s the poster boy of the Alliance—blew up the Death Star, killed the Emperor. I was there at the damn award ceremony.”

“Oh. Uh, a pleasure to meet you then.” Skywalker said, sounding significantly less like a Jedi Knight this time. Din didn’t pay the pleasantries much mind, instead watching with stark nothingness in his gut as Grogu pulled on Skywalker’s pant leg again, reaching up his little arms in a clear request to be held. Din’s shoulder ached, the pauldron there weighing a thousand pounds. The mudhorn signet burned. The mark of a clan of two made into a clan of one.

Skywalker knelt down to the Child, not quite eye level but close enough. Skywalker held out his gloved hand, grip soft, and smiled when Grogu took one of his slender fingers, shaking it slowly.

“Hello, little one.” He said. The cool air of importance slipped from his face as he spoke to the Child, filled instead with something deeply gentle, and kriff did the sight of it hurt. Din wouldn’t ever be able to give Grogu that sweetness, would he?

“I’m Luke,” Skywalker said, and Grogu babbled as he gripped his finger. “I’m the Jedi you called out for, the one the nice lady asked you to find. I’m here to help.” He ran his thumb across Grogu’s ear.

“We don’t have to keep standing around with blasters drawn, you know.” Skywalker said standing, the Child in his arms. “Take a moment. Breathe.”

No one moved until finally Cara sighed and lowered her blaster. She slugged it over her shoulder and, after looking long and hard at Fennec, the mercenary lowered her blaster a hair, finger still on the trigger. Bo-Katan didn’t so much as blink.

“We should evacuate as soon as we can.” Cara said, and Fennec hmmed in agreement.

“Who knows if an Imp managed to survive all that; risking it isn’t wise." The mercenary said, "The last thing we need is someone setting off a distress signal.”

“With us in the bridge? Unlikely.” Bo-Katan said. She still hadn’t lowered her blasters.

Skywalker studded Din’s face, searching for something Din wasn’t sure of yet. A day ago—an hour ago, a minute—the scrutiny on his bare face would have been agony, but for now Din was too focused on the Child. Grogu had managed to crawl his way to Skywalker’s shoulder, digging his tiny claws into his black cloak. Skywalker bent down and took hold of where Din had let his helmet fall. He presented it to him, visor side down, and after staring at it for what seemed like far too long, Din took it and slid it on over his helmet hair. It hissed as it clicked back into place.

“You know,” Skywalker said, “the Jedi aren’t baby snatchers. He loves you dearly; it comes off him in waves. You’re welcome to come with us.”

“I don’t think three can fit in your X-wing.” Din said, hating how his voice cracked half way through the words. He should be better than this, more composed. He knew this was the end goal from day one, ever since the Alor’goran placed he and Gorgu’s mudhorn on his Baskar; he was to find and return his foundling to his kind.

A clan of two becoming a clan of one. A clan of none.

Skywalker laughed, a soft, pretty thing. “I’m sure the Imperials here had more than just one ship on board. Though I’m afraid your friends wouldn’t be allowed to our final destination. Our secrecy is our strength.”

Din felt his body finally being to thaw. “I know what you mean.”

“I planned on having the boss take me back; we have unfinished business on Tatooine.” Fennec said with an easy air. Her finger had finally moved off the trigger.

“Would he mind if I hitched a ride to Nevarro?” Cara asked, and Fennec tossed her a smile. It was slick and sly, just like her.

“Maybe if you asked nicely.”

“This ship stays with us. You agreed to it.” Bo-Katan said with sudden sharpness. She had only lowered her blasters an inch; Din could feel them pointed at the small of his back. Din sighed behind the visor.

“Then take the ship. I don’t care.”

Sensing the tenseness in the room, Skywalker stepped forward and pressed the Child back into Din’s arms.

“I’ll need to prep the ship, let R2 warm her up. If you really want, I’d say it’s time we find you a second ship.”

Din looked down at Grogu’s two big eyes and bigger ears. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. He nodded instead.

“No.” The word is hissed out and desperate, said with a crumbling confidence. Everyone turned to Bo-Katan; her blasters shook in her fisted hands, eyes wild and narrowed.

“You know nothing of Manda'yaim, of the honor of being a Mando'ad. You and your cult stayed hidden while we fought the Empire during the Purge, while _we_ died for our home. You have no right to the throne—that is _mine_.”

Din bit back a groan. This was _ridiculous;_ it was a stupid sword. He tossed the hilt on the console between them.

“Take it.” He said, not bothering to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

“Now isn’t the time.” Cara growled, and Din could see her finger move to the trigger of her blaster. Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes and fired. Din dropped and dove out of the way, pressing Grogu safe under him-- the laser didn’t come close to his breastplate, instead ricocheting off Skywalker’s glowing laser sword, smashing into a console in a spray of sparks.

“This isn’t your fight, Jetii.” Bo-Katan spat, “This is a spar of honor.”

“There is a _child_ here.” Skywalker said, voice low, and it sent a shiver down Din’s spine. “Save petty fights for a different time.”

Bo-Katan face flushed. “Petty? This is the fate of Manda'yaim!”

“Forget it, Jedi.” Din said, standing. “This is between Mando'ads.”

Bo-Katan fired again, again, and Din stumbled back as the bullets smashed into his chest. Cara raised her blaster and Bo-Katan’s Nite Owl, Koska, drew up her own to meet her, firing before Cara had the chance to. Cara dropped behind a console, dragging Fennec with her. Fennec fired and Koska easily blocked the laser on her Basakr. Bo-Katan moved closer; she knew from her own experience the weakness in a suit of Baskar armor, knew the exposed joints and neck, and she shamelessly fired for them. Din shifted from defensive to offensive, slipping down into a fighter’s stance—his _kid_ was here, his _ad'ika_ , and Din wasn’t about to let him see any more violence than he needed to. Gorgu didn’t deserve that. He swiped the Darksaber from where it sat on the console and lunged.

Bo-Katan ducked and met the downswing with her forearm, the connection of Baskar to saber letting out a screech. She shoved Din back and he easily caught his balance, raising the Darksaber again. Bo-Katan’s face was somehow dark and raging and perfectly calm at the same time; to any other man it would have been terrifying, but Din was just tired. So, so tired.

“ _Take it.”_ He growled and Bo-Katan scoffed.

“Coward.” She spat, and opened her mouth to say something else, but whatever it was didn’t come out. Bo-Katan’s eyes widened in confusion and her hand raised to her throat. She glanced desperately around the bridge as her eyes bulged and she began to gag. The Darksaber dropped to the floor as Din swung around.

“ _Grogu_ \--”

Skywalker bolted for the Child, hoisting Grogu in his arms and pinning him close to his chest. The Child looked forward at Din, brown eyes wide and searching, and dropped his little hand. Bo-Katan dropped, coughing and clawing at her throat. She looked at Grogu with something close to fear.

“Get out.” She rasped. Koska lowered her blaster slowly, looking to her leader. “Just get it out of here.”

Skywalker took hold of Din by the bicep. Cara stood and shouldered her blaster; Fennec pointedly did not.

Din snatched the Darksaber from the floor before he could let himself think of the implications.

“Let’s go, now.” Skywalker said softly in his ear, as if Din needed to be told twice. The door to the bridge hissed open, and Cara grunted as she hoisted Gideon over her shoulder. Grogu wiggled in Skywalker’s grasp as Skywalker lead them out. The bridge door shut between the five of them.

Din stared at the hilt in his hand.

Something didn’t feel right. Felt unfinished. But his ad'ika was near and a Jedi was shoulder to shoulder beside him. His quest was complete. And he was not a clan of one.

\---

The Lambda-class shuttle was a tighter fit than the Razer Crest, but then Din didn’t think anything could really stand up to the pre-Empire, lovingly ancient bucket of bolts. Grogu had gone with Skywalker, strapped into the Jedi’s lap, and despite the fact that Din could see the X-wing in front of him and coms were open between the Lambda and the X-wing, the small separation made something in his gut twitch.

Around them, space was quiet, vast, and all-consuming.

His and Cara’s goodbye had been simple but still warm, simply a promise to meet again as she pulled him close and slapped his shoulder.

“See ‘ya around, bucket head.”

Fennec had just nodded and raised a hand in recognition. From her it felt heartfelt.

There was an electric crackle as Skywalker’s voice filtered through the com.

_“We need to talk.”_

Din grunted. “Assumed we would at some point.”

_“Firstly—I want you to know how grateful I am that you would allow Grogu—”_

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I would you, Skywalker.”

Din heard the Jedi sigh across the com. _“Luke. It’s Luke, not Skywalker. And I never caught your name—”_

“And you won’t.”

_“Okay, okay. But I need to know; what Grogu did on the bridge today, attacking that other Mandalorian… has he done anything like that before?”_

“Yes. Cara—the shock trooper—we were roughhousing one night and Grogu tried to attack her. He stopped and I made him apologize; he didn’t know better, he thought she was hurting me. He’s a kid. Kids get scared, they get angry, they lash out. He’ll outgrow it.”

Skywalker— _Luke—_ was quiet for so long that Din thought the com might have gone dead. “ _The Force is complicated, and it can lead down dark paths.”_

“He’s practically an infant. They don’t go down ‘dark paths.’”

“ _Hm.”_

After that, Luke went silent.

“What coordinates should I be putting in anyways? I’m flying blind right now.”

_“Yavin IV. We’ll jump to hyperspace and then once we come out keep close, I’ll fill you in with more detailed directions.”_

“Yavin? That backwater moon?”

Luke laughed. It was a bright, lilting sound, like a species of desert songbirds Din had encountered on Tatooine. They made for a good dinner under the hot desert stars; Grogu had sucked on the bones and played with the feathers in the light of the Razon Crest’s headlights.

“ _There are worse places to train—Dagobah for one. Nothing but mud and shitty water. Wait—can I curse in front of him? Mr. Mando, do you mind? Grogu, do_ you _mind?”_

Din heard a familiar babble across the com.

“Watch your mouth, Skywalker, or I’ll ram that ship of yours.” Din saved the smile that crept up under his helmet for Grogu and Grogu alone.

“ _He says to be nice.”_

“Bull, Grogu is the meanest little devil I know.”

“ _Rude! Grogu, your father is very rude, did you know that?”_ There was more babbling, a soft coo that was almost lost through the com, and Luke laughed again. There was the beep of coordinates being punched in, and Din followed the motion. The coldness in his gut was beginning to subside as he watched the X-wing jump to hyperspace, the Lambda riding its pistons.

\---

Yavin IV was green, hot, and wet, and the heat bled straight through Din’s armor and padding. Sweat dripped down his neck and pooled in the grooves of his armor. He hadn’t realized just how much he ached from his ass kicking by the Dark Trooper. His brain pulsed behind his eyes. Luke, almost insultingly, seemed totally unfazed by his own one sided battled with a whole squadron of them.

“Yavin was the first place off-world I’d been to; I swear I’d never seen this much green in my life. Desert home planet, you know how it is.”

Din was silent and Luke rolled his lip between his teeth. “This way.”

It was hard to see a ‘way’ through the moon’s greenery, but Luke seemed to know where he was going, moving with cheerful assurance. Far too uppity for a Jedi Knight.

“Sorry about the walk, I try to keep the exact location of the Praxeum on the down-low, so to speak. Secrecy helps bring safety. These children are my responsibility, and I won’t expose them to any more danger than what already comes with being force sensitive.”

“I’m sure their parents apricate your _secrecy_ ,” Din said, too tired to keep the rise out of his voice. But then, wasn’t that what the covert’s Alor’goran had told them all time and time again as his fellow Mandalorians resigned themselves to creeping up from the covert alone, one at a time? That secrecy was their strength?

Luke turned, the Child balanced on his hip.

“They do. I told you, the Jedi aren’t baby snatchers. Children are welcome to be unenrolled at any time, and their parents are welcome on campus. The Old Jedi Order made many mistakes and demanding that a child leave behind love of their family was one of their largest. I refuse to fall into the same pitfalls as those that came before me; there is a reason there aren’t many Jedi left.”

Din hmmed. Would keeping to the strict teachings of groups like the Watch—he refused to call it a cult, _refused to—_ lead to the same pitfall that the Jedi spoke so hesitantly about? Bo-Katan seemed to think so, but then she had shot him in the back, literally, over a glowing sword he didn’t even want. Grogu waved at him from Skywalker’s hip, and Luke turned back to look at the Mandalorian, as if waiting for something. There was a beat of silence, just them and the jungle, before something came charging through the underbrush. Din was in front of Luke in an instant, blaster drawn, mind buzzing with the vision of Grogu behind him, Gorgu staring down the barrel of a blaster, Grogu in cuffs, Grogu alone and in danger abandoned on that brig, Grogu—

“Woah, woah, woah, blaster down please—” Luke said, placing a hand on Din’s forearm. In front of him, peeking out of the bushes, were two pale little heads. Human, with freckles and dark curls, a boy and a girl. Seven, maybe? Twins?

“Uncle Luke!” The little girl screeched, throwing herself at Skywalker, and he laughed, hoisting her up with one arm. She sat on his hip, Grogu resting on the other, and Luke grinned at her, leaning forward to rest his forehead on hers.

The boy eyed Din warily before standing and moving to his uncle.

“I should have known you’d be smart enough to find us. How’d you know I was back?”

“I felt it through the Force!” The little girl said, and the boy rolled his eyes.

“ _No._ We saw your X-wing.”

“Jaina, Jacen this is our new friend Grogu and his father—Grogu’s Father, this is my niece Jaina Organa and my nephew Jacen Organa.” He nodded to the children and they suck out their hands to shake, Jaina with enough force that Din worried Luke might stumble and Jacen with an unsure steadiness. Din stared down at their little hands.

“It’s a handshake. You shake them.” Luke said with a teasing smile, and Din face soured under the mask.

“Come on, let’s go tell your Ma that we’re back, I know your mother was very excited to meet our new little friend.” Jaina nodded and bolted through the trees, Jacen following after with a groan.

“You know,” Luke said, handing over Grogu. “It’s easier to introduce people when I know their name.” Din kept his eyes on Gorgu, who cooed as he snuggled into his father’s breastplate and ignored Skywalker. The Jedi sighed and continued through the trees, following the path of destruction the children had left behind them.

Din’s brow furrowed as Luke led them out of the trees into the Praxeum. Where was the temple, the looming stone, the age-old structures? Instead, there was a cluster of buildings, most recently built, that all grew along with Yavin’s greenery like a symbiotic relationship.

“I’m going to go tell Master Aben we’re back—Maker knows Leia felt me coming a mile away, she’s always been better with the whole ‘long term sensing’ than me— and then I can find you a place to stay. but first: we have dormitories for the children, but they’re welcome to stay with their parents. Would you rather he stays with you?”

Din looked down at the Child in his hands. The baby smiled, showing its few teeth, and cooed something. Something that almost sounded like…

_Buir._

“Yes,” Din whispered. “I’d like him to stay with me.”


	2. Miha Dehba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a translations in order of appearance:
> 
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Ad’ike - a parent’s child, pet name for child  
> Buir - parent  
> Mando’ad - Mandalorian, child of Mandalore   
> Ad - child  
> Ori’vod - big siblings  
> Alor’goran - Armorer   
> Manda'yaim - Mandalore  
> Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu, Manda'yaim kandosii adu. Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya - A line from Dah Werda Verda: we are the rage of The Warriors of the Shadow, the first noble sons of Mandalore. Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.   
> Dha Werda Verda - A traditional epic poem and song about the battles fought by ancient Mandalorians.   
> Tihaar - a vodka like alcohol made from fruit  
> Eparavur takisit - I’m sorry  
> Gar morut'yc - you(re) safe/secure   
> Gar cyare - you(re) loved/beloved  
> Manda - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit. Also supreme, overarching, guardian-like  
> Burc'ya - friend (pronounced BOOR-sha)

Din had wondered, as the Razor Crest flew away from Ahsoka and the decayed forests of Corvus, the Child asleep on his lap, what the Jedi Temple Grogu had been raised in looked like. Was it all cold stone and silence, or had Grogu seen it as a warm home, a place to cherish and be cherished?

Would this new cluster of green buildings become a cherished place as well?

The suite the _Jetii_ — _Luke_ —left them in, shutting the door with a smile and a reminder to ‘ _take all the time you need’_ and _‘we’ll keep something warm on the stove for you if you miss dinner’,_ was larger than any room Din had slept in in ages, perhaps even years. For a moment he wondered if Luke had plucked that thought from his head to give him such spacious living quarters, and the thought sent a shiver down his spine. Could _Jetii_ do that? Reach into your head and pull out whatever they want?

Grogu wiggled in Din’s arms and he gently placed him on the ground. The warmth of the Yavin soil seeped through the thin floor, and the whole room was almost uncomfortably warm, but at least the Child didn’t seem to mind. He tottled through the main room—simply decorated and warmly colored with a large table, half empty bookshelves, and a sofa that sat a little too close to the ground—and Din followed after. Grogu seemed to have recovered from the lingering exhaustion he felt on the Imp ship but Din still worried he might overexert himself. It had been a long day and the Child deserved rest.

Had Gideon’s anti-force cuffs hurt him? Was that something Din was supposed to worry about in the long run? Kriff, this didn’t use to be so complicated. He just wanted his rest chamber in the Razor Crest, Grogu hanging above him and the gentle lull of hyperspace promising a moment of safety and quiet. Grogu cooed as he reached for a doorknob too tall for him and Din opened the door. An eating space, refresher, and a bedroom with the largest bed Din might have ever seen outside of a potential contract. He ran his hand over the blankets. The linen was undyed and unbleached, soft and breathable, perfect for the weather. He sat and the mattress beneath him was painfully soft.

Din leaned down and pulled off his boots while the Child hoisted himself up onto the bed, settling down on a pillow. Din’s hands came to rest at the base of his helmet as he looked at the Child— _his ad'ika_. The thought was strange. Too new, too powerful. He’d shown Grogu what was under the mask once. It hadn’t felt like breaking his Creed then—it hadn’t felt like anything, just a numb, choking nothing in his throat. This time as he pulled the Baskar up over his head it didn’t feel like breaking the Creed either. This was his _ad’ika_ , his foundling. A clan of two. His own. It didn’t feel like breaking anything at all.

Din laid back into the mattress and Grogu cooed from his spot by his head.

_Buir, buir, buir…_

Din reached up to run his thumb down one of Grogu’s soft, green ears. The Child giggled and Din smiled. He rested his forehead on Grogu and, as if knowing the significance of such a kiss, Gorgu pushed back. Din closed his eyes. It wasn’t the Razor Crest, but it was still his _ad’ika_.

\---

When Din woke the room was silent. The absence of sound was disorienting. Din couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept without the sound of a ship’s engine rumbling around him and he decided he didn’t like the stillness around him. Beside him, Grogu’s snores were squeaks, soft breathy sounds that made something twitch in Din’s chest. He sat up as quietly as he could, careful not to wake his _ad’ika_ , and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He should probably sit and think hard about how easy the word _ad’ika_ came to mind when he looked at the little green squirt, but he found he really didn’t want to. Now that he had the word, the thought of giving it back _hurt_. He never knew if any of the _Mando'ad_ in the Fighting Corp saw him like that; he liked to think they did. There hadn’t been one _buir_ in the group, one parent who took him under their wing, instead a group of _ori'vod_ who didn’t mind roughhousing in-between soft moments of love. _Ori'vod_ there to watch over him.

Were any of them even alive?

Din reached for the helmet resting on the floor and slid it over his head. It clicked into place with a hiss. It wasn’t helpful to dwell on such things. He hoped that at least the _Alor’goran_ had the chance to melt down the abandoned Baskar into something worthy of the ones who lost it. He hoped she had managed to make it out of the underground tunnel system alive, that she had taken out every Imp she found down there. Grogu sneezed and Din turned back to him. The Child murmured something, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Din sighed. Grogu must be exhausted after the past few days. He pulled on his boots and rolled his head, popping his neck before standing.

If it was warm in the room, it was suffocating outside. Din turned to lock the door behind him and realized there wasn’t a lock. He frowned inside the helmet. The _Jetii_ might believe in love and trust and other durk like that but Din wasn’t about to leave his _ad’ika_ alone in there without a lock—not after the past few days. He’d need to speak to Luke about that.

The Praxeum was dark and silent. The lack of artificial light had kept light pollution to a minimum, exposing an expanse of stars. Jedha’s sky had been almost as dark. The Holy City had been nothing but ruins of stone and dust when Din visited, the Child in tow, but the Hutts still had a hold on the outskirts of the City, and with them, a job. After all, what better place was there to hide than a city that did not exist?

(Din knew a girl on Jedha, a beginning bounty hunter who had only just started on the Guild, who had come to the City chasing after a gang deserter, blaster set to stun. Had she seen the stars before the Empire blasted the Holy City off of every map in the galaxy? Had she looked up and seen glittering gas giants, or had the sky been too swallowed by dust to see anything?)

The stars of Jedha weren’t the same as those on _Manda'yaim_ , or Din’s home planet where his covert had first pulled him free, but if he tilted his head and stretched his fingers a bit Din had still seen the Mythosaur in the sky, a collection of lines and stars against the purple-black.

“See?” Din had said as he lay on his back in the dust and sand, the bones of Jedha scattered around him, his _ad’ika_ curled up on his breastplate and looking up at the stars. “See those there? That is the Mythosaur, a mighty beast that the _Mando'ad_ road into battle. See that line of stars there? And the line beside it? That is its tusks, and its fangs.” Grogu cooed under his chin and Din lowered his hand, resting it on the Child’s tiny body.

“ _Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu, Manda'yaim kandosii adu. Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya_ …” He had sung softly, running his hand up and down the Child’s back. The words of the _Dha Werda Verda_ came with ease even if Din hadn’t studied the poem since he was a child. He didn’t know if Grogu heard him, if he even understood, but it felt good to pass a bit of _Mando_ history to him.

It felt _good_.

Now, on Yavin IV, Din looked up and struggled to see the Mythosaur in the stars. He couldn’t find the tusks at all. Of course he couldn’t, he chided himself, no two star systems carry the same starry sky. No stretching and pulling of Jedha’s or Tatooine’s or Nevarro’s night sky could bring the constellation forth in its entirety. It only truly lived on in _Manda'yaim_. Should he take his _ad’ika_ to see _Manda’yaim’s_ night sky one of these years? Would the _Jetii_ let him? Din had never seen _Manda’yaim’s_ skies, never stepped on its hallowed ground. The Empire had burned it to the ground, ground its buildings and splendor into rubble, soaked its soil with blood, and then salted the earth. It was haunted, stuffed full of death, but maybe his _ad’ika_ could find some beauty in it. After all, wasn’t Din technically tied to the throne now? Din’s face soured. No thank you.

A bird screeched somewhere in the tree line and Din stepped down from the suite’s little porch, giving one last glance behind him to the unlocked door. He tapped the side of his helmet, an overlay of infrared and low light vision flickering over the visor. The cluster of buildings carried different architecture as he moved through the campus. Suites for visiting and live-in parents lined the tree line, and a multi-story building with dozens of windows stretched around trees. The dormitories maybe? Buildings connected by walkways, corridors, and courtyards took up most of the artificial clearing; at first glance, they seemed overgrown but Din could see how the plants grew _with_ the buildings, like siblings or lovers. Maybe the Force called for the greenery to grow around it, or maybe the Force was attracted to the plant life instead. A small frog-like creature with too-big eyes and brown stripes blinked at Din from a pocket of vines; Din reached out and stuffed it into his side bag. The kid might be hungry when he woke up.

One of the building's lights was on, shining under the door. It was close to the ground, no windows, slanting almost into the dirt, and when Din pulled on the door handle—also unlocked, of _course_ —it opened right into a steep set of stairs. There was a soft sound coming from down the steps, and the smell of something cooking. After debating for what was likely too little time, Din flicked off the sight aids on his visor and started down the stairs.

Being underground cooled the air fast, though the moisture lingered. Din kept his footsteps light on the compact earthen floor; it was a skill he was proud of, even if it was foolish to be. No matter the pounds and pounds of Baskar that weighed down on him, or the number of blasters strapped to every inch of him, he could be silent as a Loth-cat. When he was just an _ad_ , surrounded by _ori'vod_ , they’d play a weaponized game of hide-and-seek with the winner getting a fruity shot of _tihaar_ no matter how young. With a weighted knife in one hand and his mic muted in his helmet, Din would stalk through the dark tunnels, so silent that even Paz would be caught off guard, forced on his back with Din’s knife on his neck.

Din wasn’t an _ad_ anymore, didn’t take joy in games for children, but the silly little pride remained.

“You’re very good at that. Very scary.” The _Jetii’s_ voice said from around the corner. Din stiffened. “I guess the whole bounty hunting thing means you’ve gotta be pretty light on your feet, right? Don’t just stand in the stairwell, let me get you something.”

Din let out a deep breath and finally rounded the corner. There was no way the kid heard him. No way.

And kid was right. Skywalker was short and baby faced and blond, obviously strong under his black clothes but still delicate, and he couldn’t be more than 25, 28 standard years at most. Too young for a _Jetii_. But, then, Ahsoka hadn’t looked much older.

Luke lounged at a table cluttered with cooking ware, all of it pushed aside to clear a little elbow room for a few chairs. A massive stovetop and other kitchen appliances took up much of the room; so he had found the kitchen. A pot of something red and spicy boiled on the stovetop and Luke had a bowl of it in front of him, close to half empty.

“Sit?”

Din eyed the _Jetii_ with discomfort, feeling very thankful for the bucket on top of his head.

“You’re up late.” He said, careful to keep his voice even.

“So are you.”

“I need a lock for my door.” Din said, and Luke’s brows rose a bit.

“I make a point to help everyone feel safe by—”

“I need. A lock. For my door.”

“Okay, alright. We’ll find you one. Sit, I’ll get you something. I promised I’d keep some food warm, didn’t I? Where’s the little one?”

“Asleep.” Din grunted and Luke nodded. He placed a bowl of red, steaming stew in front of him.

“ _Miha Dehba._ My aunt’s recipe. I, uh, don’t know much about Mandalorian cooking, but it’s served for celebrations back home and I figured if there was ever a reason to celebrate, a new family would be it.”

Din looked down at the bowl; specks of spices clung to the sides of the bowl, inviting grease gleaming on top, with red stained meat floating in the thick liquid. He knew what he would do three days ago if someone had put a meal in front of him—pass it to the kid and wait to eat a ration bar in the Razor Crest where he could take off the helmet in peace. Now?

He could take it off. He broke his Creed on that Imp ship; how many other people had been on board? Cara, Fennec, Bo-Katan and her Nite Owl. Gideon. _Luke._

The _Jetii_ in front of him knew exactly what his face looked like. Din didn’t have any right to keep the helmet on. He lost it.

“You don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.” Luke said. “Grogu was very respectful of privacy and all, but he did give me a good scolding for looking at your face. I don’t know much about Mandalore, but I’m not about to force you to do anything. If anyone knows anything about respecting culture, it’s the folks on Tatooine.” There was something almost bitter mixed into the last few words, but Din chose to ignore it.

“So,” Luke said, abandoning his bowl and moving forward, “Tell me about Mandalore.”

“Never been.”

“But you’re Mandalorian?”

“To be _Mando'ad_ is—complicated. For some it is ancestry, for others Creed. To be _Mando'ad_ isn’t blood. It’s a way of life.”

Luke hmmed. “It sounds similar to the Jedi. It is a choice to develop the means to control the force. One must choose to follow its ways and its call. To be force sensitive isn’t enough.”

Skywalker looked at Din and Din felt a sudden, deep discomfort grow from his gut to his throat. Luke opened his mouth to say something—probably more bullshit about _Jetii_ —and Din interrupted.

“A _Jetii_ wouldn’t know anything about the honor of being _Mando’ad.”_ He said, the words coming out as a hiss, but Skywalker’s face stayed impassive.

“Then I hope over the next few weeks your son and I can prove you wrong.

_Your son and I…_

_Your son…_

Din stood, spun on his heels. He wasn’t going to fight with some kid in the middle of the night while his _ad’ika_ slept without a kirffing _lock._

“You don’t know anything about the kid.” He spat, forcing away the fear that maybe, maybe the _Jetii_ knew more about Gorgu than Din ever could.

“At least take the soup with you.” Luke said, voice soft. Din stopped at the stairs. “You need to eat.” Din breathed through his teeth, turned around, and took the wooden bowl from Luke’s hand.

“Say hello to the Child for me?” Luke asked, but Din was already up the stairs and gone.

\---

The soup was cold in Din’s hand by the time he shut the suite’s door behind him. The Child was awake, staring at the door with too big eyes. He let out a pained squeak at the sight of Din and shimmied off of the bed, landing on the warm floor with an ‘oof!’. He recovered quickly and waddled with surprising speed straight to Din. He mumbled into Din’s leg as he clung to Din’s boot and Din crouched down to him.

“Did I scare you?” He asked. The child just clung to him tighter.

“ _Eparavur takisit,”_ He said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

The Child cooed into his shoulder and Din sighed. He placed a hand on the back of his tiny head, murmuring soft words in Mando’a. “ _Gar morut'yc… gar cyare…”_

Din was struck by a sudden yearning to teach, to have Grogu look at him and know the meaning of each word. His covet was gone. All those years, generations, of culture, _gone._ But he wasn’t. He carried that _manda_ with him and he could pass that on.

“Would you like to learn about being a _Mando'ade_ , kid?” He said, voice gravely, and Grogu patted his chest with his little hands. Din laughed softly. “Is that a yes?”

Din jumped when his comm went off, too absorbed in Grogu’s little movements. He scooped his _ad’ika_ up and tossed him on the bed, taking his comm off the bedside table and flicking on the call.

“ _You didn’t say goodbye. I’m wounded.”_ Fetts voice came through the comm, gravely and lively, thick with humor, and Din laughed.

“Things got complicated.”

_“So I was told. Don’t get messed up in Jetii business Mando.”_

Oops. Too late.

_“Is the little thing with you?”_

“The Child? Yes.”

_“Then turn on your holoproj, I wanna see the thing.”_

“Him, not a thing.”

_”Whatever.”_

Din flicked on the holoproj on his comm and lifted Grogu onto his lap. Fett flickered into view. He took off his helmet at the sight of Grogu, exposing skin scarred from scarlacc acid and worn from a life without rest.

” _So that’s what all the fuss is about.”_ Fett said and Grogu waved.

“Boor sha?” He babbled, something that might even be a question, and Din’s head snapped to him.

“What did you say? Burc’ya? _Burc'ya!_?” He said, voice rising to an embarrassing pitch, and Grogu just giggled.

 _“Raising a little Mando there?”_ Fett said with a laugh, but Din was too busy beaming at his _ad’ika._

“Yes, he’s a burc’ya. That’s Boba, he’s a burc’ya, he’s a friend.”

“ _So what the hell happened? Dune didn’t say anything when you didn’t show and Fennec laughed the whole ride to Tatooine”_

“What the hell are you doing on Tatooine?”

 _“I’m sure it’ll make it’s way down the gape vine soon enough.”_ He said, looking particularly smug and off-screen someone, likely Fennec, snorted.

Din sighed. “We found Grogu easily enough. Gideon was there, we fought, I confiscated his… weapon… and a _Jetii_ showed up, promised to train the kid, and I left with them. Cut and dry.”

 _“Come on, let me see it.”_ Fett said with a sly smile.

“What?”

_“The Darksaber. Apparently, you took it from her Highness.”_

“I didn’t ‘take’ anything. It just sort of… fell in my lap.”

There was silence for a sliver of a moment before Fett began wheezing. For a moment Din worried he was choaking but realized the older man was _laughing,_ full gut heaving, eye-watering, howling laughter.

 _“What did the Princess’s face look like when she saw you walk in with it? Oh Maker, it must have been_ fantastic _!”_

“Honestly? She looked like she might vomit.”

 _“Who’s illegitimate now, bitch?”_ Fett said around a grin. _“You know, my father was almost Mand'alo. His mentor was Mand’alo Jaster Mereel. I’d wager I’ve got just as much a claim to that throne as her and her Duchess. Or you now, Mando. Better watch yourself, I’ll fight you for it.”_

Fett laughed as if he could some see Din’s face pale. _“I’ve got better things to do than rule a dead planet, kid.”_ His face sobered. _“So. Tell me about the Jetii._ ”

“Some scrawny guy named Skywalker—”

Even without color on the holo, Din could see Fett’s color drain, then molt. “ _Skywalker? Luke Skywalker?”_

The Child babbled in Din’s lap. “Yup.”

Fett’s nostrils flared. _“You should take the kid and go, Mando. Skywalker isn’t the type you trust.”_

Din found himself feeling surprisingly defensive. “What do you know about some random _Jetii?_ ”

Fett’s eyes narrowed. He ran a hand over the back of his neck where the scar tissue that littered his scalp and face was thickest in a motion that was almost absent-minded. In the week and a half Din had known Fett, he had never done anything absent-minded, each movement always purposeful and direct. Din didn’t have to be a _Jetii_ to feel the heavy anger coming off him in waves.

He snorted. “ _Maybe I should come down there and show you the scarlacc pit in the backyard, see if it still likes the taste Mando.”_

Din went quiet. He recognized the acid burns across Fett’s face and scalp from the corpses he had seen spat up by scarlaccs the moment he first saw Fett—the surprising thing was seeing someone which such scars up and walking. He never offered any information surrounding the burns and Din never asked. It was none of his business. Now, though, his gut was beginning to unsettle.

“He didn’t feed you to a damn sarlacc did he?” He said, trying to make it sound joking. It fell flat. Fett’s face twisted into an uncomfortable smile.

“ _Kicked me right into it.”_ Fett said through his teeth. “ _Don’t trust Jetii, Mando, they never have your best interests at heart. Listen to your gut. A buir will know better about what an ad needs than some damn wizard.”_

Din nodded slowly. Beside him Grogu squealed. He must have found the frog Din had caught for him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Din said, voice low, and Fett’s eyes bore into him.

“ _You better. Nothing good ever comes out of a Jetii.”_


	3. Datapad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anyone to proofread this so I apologize for any mistakes! I hope you enjoy! Comments make my world ;)
> 
> Mando’a translations in order of appearance:  
> Beroya - bounty hunter  
> Ad’ika - child, a pet name for a child  
> Mando - Culture of Mandalore  
> Draluram - a special kind of spice unique to Mandalorian food  
> Buir - parent  
> Jetii - Jedi (singular)  
> dral erin - ‘glowing’ green  
> Dral bal mesh'la - bright (closer to glowing) and beautiful  
> adiik jetiise - child Jedi (plural)  
> Mando’ad - Mandalorian

One of the twins knocked on their door in the morning. Din left Gorgu sitting on the couch, his little green head tipped in interest, and opened it a little more than a crack before recognizing the mop of dark hair, freckles, and too wide eyes.

“Breakfast!” The girl—Jaina? Was that right?—called, rocking back and forth on her heels. She leaned just slightly, looking over Din’s shoulder at Grogu. The Child smiled and she brightened even more.

“Uncle—no, Master, sorry—Master Luke wanted to be sure you didn’t sleep through it. I can take you if you like!”

Din looked at her; her curls had tried to be tamed with a wet hairbrush but the drying strands refused to stay down and her left front tooth was chipped, almost unnoticeably, speaking of a rough and tumble lifestyle. Her eyes were caf brown, and her freckles were likely more from the sun than the natural shade of her skin. He didn’t tell her that he’d been up for hours. Cara had called once at the crack of dawn—it seemed night cycles were different on Nevarro—wanting to be sure the kid was settling in well enough. For someone who claimed she didn’t do the ‘baby thing’ she cared deeply. It was sweet, though Din would never tell her so. An hour or so after she called, another call came across the comm. He’d been surprised to see the green and red helmet again, and Grogu had crawled up on to Din’s shoulders for a better look at Fett.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Din had said. Grogu waved.

“Boor sha!” He squeaked and Fett laughed.

“ _His pronunciation is getting better_.” He said, “ _Give him a week as he’ll be as fluent as a native-born_.”

Din snorted. “Right now, we’re focusing on following basic commands.”

The Child cooed as if to profess innocence.

Fett removed his helmet with a click-hiss and placed it down on whatever was out of sight of the holoproj with a clack.

“ _Wanted to see the baby_.” He said with a crooked smile, and Din found himself caught by the bounty hunter’s face—his broad shoulders, how he held himself with total confidence, the curves of the acid burns that were somehow both raw and elegant across his cheekbones. His face seemed eroded by sand, limestone cut into sloping shapes, but his eyes were sharp, untouched by time and age. Fierce and unflinching as a krayt dragon’s eyes.

“ _Of_ course _you did_ ,” Fennec called from out of sight. “ _That’s obviously it_.”

_“Hey, I could have developed paternal instincts over the years—”_

_“And I developed a taste for men.”_ Fennec snorted.

Fett turned his head and hissed something in a language Din didn’t recognize—Durese maybe?—and Fennec laughed. _“You go with that, o’ wise bounty hunter.”_

Grogu scrunched up his face in deep concentration, then said “Bar o…ah…?”

 _“Yes, little one,_ beroya _”_ Fett said, and Grogu’s eyes lit up.

The conversation had continued on like that, Din and Fett pressing forward Mando’a words and watching the Child toy with them before spitting them back out.

Now, with Jaina at the door looking over his shoulder at his _ad’ika,_ Din found himself wishing the bounty hunter was with him.

Jaina offered a hand and Din took it, feeling rather awkward about being led around by a child, and Grogu tottled after.

“Everybody’s _so_ excited to have someone new, it’s allll Hamar would talk about last night, just blabbing all night about what they’d be like. It was kinda annoying honestly.”

She turned to look behind him. “Can I hold them?”

Din was tempted to say no, but Grogu was already holding his arms up. Jaina’s face brightened and she scooped Grogu up.

“They’re lighter than they look.”

“He. He’s lighter. His name is Grogu.”

Jania nodded as if he had just told her the most important thing in the world. “It’s nice to meet you, Grogu.” The Child giggled.

Jaina pointed to a large building, Grogu balanced on one arm. “That’s the mess hall. Everybody eats there. You gotta go early if you want a good seat but I’m sure everyone saved you one. Just this once though!”

The door-- large, tall, and wooden-- was, of course, not locked. Jaina pressed her back to it and pushed it open, keeping a careful hold on Grogu, and Din was surprised by how one large room could hold so few people.

The room was blessedly cool with giant windows letting in the morning light. Large circular tables took up most of the floor, with a long, fat table filled with food sat in the back. A handful of adults sat at a table need the back, some humanoid, some not, and on another table, squeezed side by side was a group of eleven kids. The eldest looked to be about 14, a twi'lek with mint green coloring and ribbons wrapped around her lekku in an intricate design. Next to her sat a togruta with a prominent overbite, sharp pearly teeth poking out from under their upper lip. Jacen was talking animatedly to them and they laughed, elbowing another child. The youngest looked to be around 5—Din wasn’t sure, he was never the best at telling ages—with richly colored dark skin, wide brown eyes, and dark hair done up in short twists.

“Mr. Mando!” Luke called from the adult table. “So glad you could join us. Please, why don’t you introduce yourself and little Grogu here?"

Din’s face was flat behind the helmet. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Luke’s smile faltered.

“Please?” He said, sounding rather pathetic in Din’s opinion.

“This is my son, Grogu. I’m here to look after him as he… trains… with the Jedi stuff.” He left it at that and Luke sighed, bringing back his soft, sweet smile.

“Thank you. Please, sit. I’m sure the children are excited to meet someone new.”

Din was tempted to squeeze over at the children’s table next to Gorgu but had a feeling that would just embarrass the Child. Surely he’d want to make a good impression. Din certainly would. Luke waved him over.

“Mr. Mando—”

 _Maker above, that’s an annoying title,_ Din thought--

“--These are some of the guardians of our children here. Some are permanent residence but most just visit. And I have a few teachers here as well—though Master Zachari rarely joins us for meals. This is my sister, Leia. She’ll be leaving in a few hours, but she stops by often to visit the twins.”

Leia nodded around her caf. Now that Skywalker had pointed her out Din could see the immediate similarity to the twins. Her dark hair was pulled into tight braids atop her head but curls desperately tried to escape at her temples. Her eyes were dark, her nose and cheekbones speckled with freckles; the two children looked identical to her. She looked nothing like Luke, though. Where he was blond and bright, she was dark and elegant. His hair curled sweetly around his cheekbones, light as sunlight, and Din would have said he’d never seen eyes so clear and blue if it wasn’t the stupidest sounding comment in the world. Leia was sharp in every place he was soft, dark in every place he was light. How could they possibly be related?

Leia was watching him critically over her cup of caf. “It’s a pleasure to meet a new child.” She said. Her voice was like velvet. She placed the cup down and extended her hand. Even through his glove, the touch was electric.

She had it, didn’t she? That strange _Jetii_ magic. Leia’s perfect lips curled into a soft smile.

“Yeah.” Din said, feeling more and more out of place by the second.

“Han’s on a bacta run.” She said to Luke, and the man nodded. “I think he still needs the thrill of lawlessness and running shortage goods are the best he can get.” Luke laughed.

“This is Patu,” Luke said, gesturing to a twi’lek woman with mint skin slightly darker than her daughter’s. “Silvi is hers. Patu does a wonderful job making sure the children are fed—”

“I try to research traditional foods for each child’s home planet.” She said. Her voice was thickly accented, catching on the r’s and s’s. “I’ll need to talk with you about what Grogu would feel most at home eating. We try to do our best here to make things feel like home.”

Din felt a sudden strange flush of embarrassment. He had no idea when Grogu’s favorite foods were. Frogs? Frog _eggs_? What kind of father couldn’t even tell someone _that?_ And then came the question of telling her something _Mando…_ did he really want an outsider knowing how to cook _draluram_ foods? Was his culture something to share with an outsider? The thought made his lip curl.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to think on that,” Patu said with an awkward smile. Luke when down the line—the togruta child was named Saw and their older brother, Moth, visited often. Two fathers lived with their human son, Mathies, and so on and so on.

“Who’s the kid with the twists?” Din asked. The black boy was talking adamantly with Grogu on the other table, and the Child’s grin made Din’s stomach flip happily.

“He’s mine.” Skywalker said, “That’s Finn. His parents were killed in an Imperial raid when they sensed a Force sensitive. I-- I couldn’t save them, but I took him in. I’ve raised him from near infancy. He’s my son.”

A foundling. Luke Skywalker had a foundling.

The thought struck Din harder than he thought it could. A foundling. Just like Grogu.

Just like him.

“Would you like to meet him?” Luke asked. “He seems to be getting along well with your boy.”

Surprisingly, Din found himself nodding.

Luke took him by the elbow and Din found that the touch wasn’t unwelcome. Finn sat shoulder to shoulder with Grogu, pieces of purple meat shredded up on his plate. He floated a piece over to Gorgu who caught it in his mouth. The two laughed, Grogu’s eyes shining, and he attempted to send another shredded piece of meat to Finn, smacking him in the face with an overly forceful throw. Gorgu squeaked, reaching over to see if the other boy was alright, but Finn just laughed, wiping the sauce from his face with the back of his hand.

“Napkins, Finny.” Luke said and Finn’s head jerked up as he noticed the two men. He gave a sheepish smile and dabbed away the remaining sauce with a napkin, then offered it to his new friend. Grogu stuffed the napkin in his mouth.

“Come on, Gorgu, please, spit that out—” Luke said, kneeling to his level, but Din just shrugged.

“He’ll realize it doesn’t taste good and isn’t worth eating and then he’ll spit it out himself. He’s a smart kid.” Din said and Luke tossed a hard look over his shoulder, obviously not wanting to be talked back to in front of his students. As if on cue, Grogu spat the napkin out, hopping off his seat to run into Din’s leg.

“Boo err” He slurred and behind the helmet Din beamed.

 _Buir, buir, buir_ …

He hoisted Gorgu up and it took all the will he had not to spin him around and squeeze him close. It felt unsafe to show that much affection—he didn’t need strangers to take advantage any more than the _Jetii_ already was.

“Is that your new friend?” He asked and Gorgu nodded, squirming in his arms. He made a spitting sound that Din realized was an _F._ “That’s right, that’s Finn.” He said softly, giving Grogu the slightest squeeze, and then let the Child slip free after the squirming got to be too much. Grogu took Din’s hand and, with surprising strength, yanked him to Grogu’s own empty seat.

“Hiya.” The boy—Finn—said beside Din, offering a slightly sticky hand. “I’m Finn. I’m really glad we have someone new here, it’s been _foreeever_ since we’ve had someone new. Are you Grogu’s dad?”

Din was surprised by Finn’s speaking. He didn’t know much about kids, but he expected someone of his age to slur more, to stumble over his words. The boy looked at him with owl wide eyes.

“Yes.”

“Your helmet is cool,” Silvi said around her fork. Her accent was lighter than her mother’s. “It kinda looks like a clone helmet. I’ve never met a Mandalorian but Ma’s met clones, she has pictures of her with ‘em in full armor and everything. They’re all painted up—can you paint your armor, or does it have to be chrome like that?”

A rodian girl elbowed Silvi. “Don’t be _rude_ ” She hissed, and Silvi elbowed back.

“It’s not rude,” Din said, and both girls’ heads whipped back to him. “I can, but I haven’t decided on my colors yet. Each color means something specific, so when you paint a piece of it takes a lot of thought.”

Silvi nodded slowly, and the other children on the table followed suit.

“What’s this mean?” Silvi asked, pointing to her pale green skin.

“We don’t have the word for that color in Mando’a, but the closest would be _dral erin._ And that would mean a lust for peace.” Silvi preened under the words. “and this—” Din pressed his fingers to the purple ribbons around her lekku. “—would be luck.”

“What about me! What about me!!” An orange skinned humanoid cried, throwing their hand in the air, and almost instantly six hands followed.

“What does my skin mean?”

“My hair—”

“My lekku are TWO colors does that—”

Luke snorted behind Din and Din looked over his shoulder at the _Jetii_.

“Would you like to know what you mean, _Jetii?”_ He said. Luke’s chin jutted out slightly.

“Perhaps.”

“Black. Justice.”

He was surprised when Luke sucked in a breath through his teeth, eyes wide and soft. “Justice.” He murmured, and one hand found his gloved fingertips. “Justice.” He cleared his throat. “Alright children, Master Aben will be here soon. Let’s been good and put our dishes away.”

The kids let out a chorus of ‘ _yes Master Skywalker’_ and began piling silverware on platers. Grogu shoveled his last bit of breakfast in his mouth. Din found his gaze lingering on Luke’s leather-clad fingertips. His fingers were slender, elegant—delicate. He caught Luke’s eye and Luke raised an eyebrow. Din was painfully glad the man couldn’t see him blush.

\---

Master Aben was humanoid, tall, and exuded the air of someone who had been raised with far too many second chances. Saw had informed Din that the guardians rarely sat in on the lessons. Din had been uncomfortable with that but then Grogu had waddled off on Finn’s shoulders, the two of them laughing at a conversation Din would never be able to hear. Din refused to admit he was jealous of their Force (Was that how the Force worked?) conversations, but knowing his _ad’ika_ would always be that little bit away from him, a step outside his reach… it stung. So, he sought out Skywalker instead.

The impromptu lessons with Fett his morning had been stewing in Din’s mind all morning, but he was still embarrassingly nervous when he placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder as the children filed out after Master Aben.

“Can I help you Mr. Mando?” the _Jetii_ said, and Din’s lip curled under his helmet at the kriffing stupid nickname.

“I was wondering—I—” Din swallowed. This shouldn’t be this hard. “If you still had any… datapads from when," Din cleared his throat. "from when Finn was still a child.”

Luke’s eyebrows furrowed. “He still _is_ a child.”

“I mean. Baby datapads?”

Luke’s face brightened. “Baby datas? Like with numbers and colors and animals? I still have a few, for nostalgia’s sake. Would you like to borrow some?”

“For Grogu.”

Luke laughed, and once again Din thoughts were back with the songbirds on Tatooine.

“I assumed it would be. I doubt you intended to learn your Galactic Basic numbers as some light reading.” He smiled. There was something unbelievably bright to his smile, light as a feather and strong as a split canyon. _Dral bal mesh'la…_

Luke gave his four datapads—a pad of numbers, a pad of colors, a pad of basic phrases in common languages, and a holopad of planets with rhyming descriptions. As Grogu and the other students levitated rocks or did whatever it was _adiik jetiise_ did, Din poured over Finn and Skywalker’s datapads, editing each word to Mando’a.

He’d make a little _Mando'ad_ out of his ad’ika yet.


	4. Power of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all in one sitting go easy on me if it is terrible or i didn't catch all the mistakes :") i've finally figured out how i want this story to go so writing has gotten easier and easier, thank GOD! so, lemme know if you still like this hunk of junk :)
> 
> a slugthrower is a very powerful weapon that is basically a shotgun, it uses metal bullets and shrapnel instead of lasers! the mandos invented them to fight Jedi bc the bullets can't be stopped by a lightsaber 
> 
> Mando’a in order of appearance:  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Kaysh guur' skraan - ‘they love their food’, a form of endearment   
> Skraan - slang for meals  
> Ori’vod - Big brother  
> ika ad - vaguely translates to a little one  
> Mand'alor - ruler of Mandalore   
> Burc'ya - friend (sarcastic)  
> Ba'buir - Grandfather  
> Manda'yaim - Mandalore   
> ‘Nash booer rah soo merr’ --> Grogu is trying to say something close to 'nayc buir arasuumir' - very literally ‘no father stay’, but not a full sentence or any kind of correct grammar

Three weeks go on as such: Din wakes to the Child on his chest, sleeping in a still, silent, not-ship bedroom on soft linens, a lock on his door, and watches with quiet love as Grogu attempts to help him into his Baskar with his tiny, tiny hands. He eats the breakfast Patu left on his porch in private, and by sunrise, the holoproj is beeping from its spot on the main room’s table. Fett will join them as the sun rises on Yavin IV, sharing stories of his recent escapades, and Grogu will walk with the twins to the mess and sit in his saved spot next to Finn. Patu and the others will sit Din down and pelt him with well meaning questions that Luke will, blessedly, divert. The children will leave for Master Aben’s class and Din will be left alone with Luke for a moment—just a moment—and somehow the _Jetii_ will say something that stays on Din’s tongue for hours.

But for now, it was sunrise and Din was desperate for a change of scenery. Din marched, baby in hand, until he couldn’t see or hear hide or hair of Skywalker’s ‘school’ and plopped down, lighting up the holoproj through the green leaves.

 _“Desperate for a change of scenery_?” Fett said, leaning back in his seat. Slave I hummed around him.

“Stars, absolutely.” Din groaned. He sat back against a tree, the Yavin jungle pines leaving dappling light around him.

“ _When’s the last time you’ve been off world?”_ Fett asked, and Din tilted his head back against the tree trunk with a ‘thunk’.

“Too long. I haven’t been stuck this long in one place since before I swore the Creed.”

“ _Don’t go loosin’ your bucket,”_ Fett said, the sarcastic smile clear in his voice. He removed his helmet with familiar ease, and for a moment Din let himself wonder if he was the only one who got to see the bounty hunter’s face this often. Grogu cooed in his lap, breaking the idea and Din shook the remaining thought from his head. Not worth dwelling on. It was painfully self-absorbed to imagine he held that much importance in Fett’s life.

” _Little guy’s lookin’ healthy.”_

Din nodded. “ _Kaysh guur' skraan”_ He said with a chuckle. “They’re feeding him well. I keep debating giving the recipe to some _skraan_ , give him a chance to eat like a Mando but…”

“ _You don’t want the other kids eating it.”_

“They wouldn’t understand the importance.”

“ _And the kid would?”_

Din sighed and resisted the urge to hide his helmet in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this.”

“ _No one does.”_

Grogu mumbled something that might have been a word or might have just been babbling baby talk and crawled up onto Din’s shoulder. He waved at Fett.

“Oree vod!” He squeaked, and Fett’s eyes widened into a split second of surprise before hardening down into his practiced sabacc face.

“ _Ori’vod, ika ad_?” He asked, and Grogu giggled.

“Oree vod! Bobie oree void!”

Fett’s face softened.

“Bobie?” He said, voice soft and almost gentle.

“Whatdaya know, you’re an ori’vod.” Din said, and Fett laughed.

“Listen, Mando—”

“Din.” Din said, spitting the words out before he could talk himself out of the action.

“Din?”

“Not Mando, Din.”

Fett nodded slowly, face carefully blank. He knew the importance of names. He may not know much of Din’s covert, of his clan’s rules and secrets, but he knew Din held his name close to his chest, reserved for a chosen few.

“Nice to meet ya, Din.” He said, face brightening, and Din felt like Fett could see Din's own smile, even under the Baskar.

“Kriffn’ hell, you carry that thing with you?” Fett said suddenly, and Din looked down to where he was looking. Din’s belt—where the Darksaber’s hilt hung awkwardly.

Din sighed, swallowed, shrugged. “I’m not going to leave it lying about.”

“Of course, oh great _Mand'alor_.” Fett said, sweeping into a rather mocking bow. Din bristled.

“It’s a sword, not some damn crown.”

“Can I see it?”

“What!?”

“Come on, do it for a dear _burc'ya_.”

Din let out a painfully even breath through his nose and stood, unhooking the Darksaber’s hilt from his belt. He slid a switch on the edge and with a near-silent hum, the starry black night appeared before him, wobbly and hazy on the edges but sharp enough to kill. Fett whistled.

“You said your father was almost _Mand’alor_.” Din said as he sheathed the ‘Saber and Fett nodded.

“During the civil war he fought under his guardian, Jaster Mereel. That man—my _ba'buir_ —wielded the Darksaber as the leader of the True Mandalorians. Father said he was the greatest leader _Manda'yaim_ could ask for. When he died, father became first in line for the ‘Saber, but it was taken. No more _Mand’alor_.” He leaned back against his chair, Slave I’s cockpit shaking a little. Space turbulence.

“I thought Jango Fett was a bounty hunter.”

“He was. He was a great many things.”

Fett was silent then, the quiet stretching so long that Din considered closing the call, but then Fett began to speak. It didn’t sound like him, slow and soft, hurting yet filled with rage.

“Have you ever worked with slavers, _Din_?”

“No, never. I make it a point not to. Even I have standards.”

“I remember, when I was young, before the world went to shit, watching him change and seeing a mark on his side, at the edge of his ribs. I didn’t understand what the tattoo meant, and he promised he’d tell me when I was older. When I saw it again on another life form…”

Din felt his whole body go cold.

“Spice mines?” He asked hesitantly, begging that he was wrong. Fett hmmed.

“I carry this—” he shuffled on his belt and brought out a blaster. No, not a blaster, a slugthrower. Din had seen so few he could count them on one hand. He’d considered buying one once but hadn’t had the credits for the black market dealer he found. He’d heard of the damage one could do, a metal bullet exploding into shrapnel once it hit its target. “—for any slavers I find. I shoot them right in the gut, let them feel themselves bleed out. I’m going to rid this galaxy of them, one by one.”

“Good.” Fett’s face flicked to Din’s at his words. “I don’t often work for free, but if you ever find yourself in need with blasting a slaver—”

“I don’t need help.” Fett growled, sliding the slugthrower away. The baby cooed something from where he lay curled up in Din’s lap and Fett’s face softened.

“I-- I'll… I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He said, sliding his helmet back on. “Make sure that kid gets enough sleep.”

The holoproj flickered and died, leaving Din alone in the woods, Grogu tucked against his thighs.

\---

They have missed breakfast when they reach the mess hall, Grogu clinging to Din’s shoulder babbling a one-sided conversation.

“You missed breakfast,” Luke said from where he stood before the massive door.

 _No shit,_ Din thought, and Luke sighed. He reached out his arms for Grogu but the Child shook his head and dug his fingers into the armor’s joints. They stood there in a stalemate until Luke dropped his arms and ran a hand through his already tousled blond hair.

“Fine,” he said, sounding painfully tired. “He can come.”

Grogu cooed and let go, slipping down Din’s arm and leg before landing on the ground with a soft ‘oof!’. He reached up and Din crouched a little to let the Child take hold of his finger and lead him with surprising speed to one of the training rooms. Luke opened the door with out touching it, just a slight brush of his hands in the air. Master Aben looked up from his work with a child; Saw stood with their legs spread in a fighter’s stance, a long but balanced staff in their hands, Aben altering their stance.

“So, you finally decided to be joining us.” He said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “No parents.”

Luke sighed. “Gorgu—”

“Nash booer rah soo merr!” The Child said in a surprisingly clear sentence. The pronunciation was terrible, the grammar even more so, but it was a sentence, and Din’s heart caught in his throat, swelling with something that, when he had later time to dwell on it, would be pride.

“What by the Force was _that_?” Aben said.

“Roughly translated, that he wants me to stay,” Din said. Grogu planted his tiny feet.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Luke said raising a placating hand to Aben. “He can just stand in the back. We said parents can be a distraction, not that they’re banned from ever being present. Let’s just settle.”

Aben looked down his nose at Din—an impressive feat given how much taller Din was—and cleared his throat. “Alright, move to the back. Children, form one!”

“You’re not really giving him a stick to practice hitting people with, are you?” Din whispered to Luke as he moved to the back of the hall. Luke shrugged.

“He’ll need prep for lightsaber practice.”

“ _Lightsaber_ \--!? He’s only… well, fifty, but still—”

“Am I boring you, Mandalorian?”

Din turned. Aben stood with one hand on his hip, the other clutching a training staff. A few children giggled.

“Not at all, Master.” Din grit out, raising a gloved hand in a mocking salute. Snickers bounced around the room again.

“Master Luke, why don’t you come up here and help me demonstrate yesterday’s homework?”

Din narrowed his eyes at the back of Gorgu’s little green head from where he stood in line with the other younger children. Homework, eh? He certainly hadn’t seen any homework completed. They’d have to talk after class.

Luke nodded, rolled his shoulders, and took a training staff that a child kindly offered him with a soft “thanks kiddo.” He had barely turned to face the other man when Aben was on him.

Luke jumped back as if he had seen the attack from miles away, landing on his feet so silently it was hard to believe he had moved. He circled Aben with a strange kind of ease—he was prepared and alert, not too confident but still languid in his movements. Aben lunged and the strike was easily blocked—once, twice, and then Luke was pushing back when Aben’s staff caught on his. He ducked when the Master swiped his staff where Luke’s head had been only a moment before. Aben’s staff flicked down to catch him behind the knees; Luke jumped with seemingly no prior movement, landing on the moving staff before jerking upward, above and over Aben as fluid as water. Din tried no gape.

He had seen Skywalker slice through the dark troopers like they were nothing, seen the fluid, almost bored movements, but that had been through a computer screen. Seeing the _Jetii_ move in person… it felt like watching something distinctly otherworldly.

Luke spun and caught Aben in the side; it was a light tap, obviously not his full strength but Aben’s face still darkened as if it had been a gutting blow. Aben returned the blow but Luke was already gone, swiping his legs out from underneath him. Aben snarled and grabbed Luke’s ankle from the floor, pulling him down with a surprised gasp. Aben was up in an instant and Luke reached out with his right hand for his fallen staff. It zipped across the floor to him but as soon as the wood bushed his fingers Aben’s blow came down hard and fast on his arm.

There was a cheer from the children that their teacher had been beaten, almost instantly vaporized by the _cruch-snap_ that came from Luke’s hand. Skywalker let out the garbled strangled sound that Din knew in an instant: the sound of a man in pain trying desperately not to show it. Aben’s face drained of color.

“Daddy?” Came Finn’s soft voice from the back of the room with the rest of the beginners. It rose to a shriek as Finn bolted to him. “ _Daddy!?”_

Silvi caught hold of him before he could reach his father and Luke shot her a thankful look. Grogu was already waddling over though. Din rushed to grab him as the Child offered a little green hand to Luke’s hand, which the Jetii had hidden in his armpit.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, but I’m afraid you can’t heal something like this.” Luke said softly, and Din scooped Grogu up. He could see now why Grogu’s healing wouldn’t have helped. In his sweats, Luke had left his glove behind and Din could see where the synthetic skin had ripped, caught in the crushed edges of the metal plating, tangled in mangled wiring. Skywalker had a mech-no arm. Or hand, at least.

“I think class is dismissed,” Luke said, forcing a smile to the growing circle of students.

“I’m so sorry,” Aben whispered in his ear, helping him to his feet. “Luke, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Now’s not the time, Erni.” Luke said, “Just—see if you can get Leia to send us a mech-no expert again—”

“I might be able to help,” Din said before he could stop himself. The two men’s faces jerked towards him. “My armor is connected to heat and pressure sensors similar to that of mech-no tech. If I took a look at it, I might be able to fix it—or at least give it a solid enough patch under an expert gets here.”

Luke sighed, looked from his garbled palm and wrist, then at Din’s helmet.

“Erni, you’re in charge of the children. And keep a close eye on Grogu, he likes to wander. Pair up him and Finn, see if they can keep each other busy.”

Aben nodded curtly and was out of the door in a moment.

“Well,” Luke said, wincing as he flexed his metal fingers, “I suppose we go to your place then.”

\---

Din locked the door _firmly_ behind him. He knew he was safe, that nothing bad could really happen here, but still paranoia prickled on the back of his neck.

“Can you see well enough in that?” Luke asked from where he sat on the sofa, hand cradled in his lap. Din stared him down from where he was digging his armor care pack out of his things.

“Alright, that was probably pretty rude. Sorry. Just a little nervous.”

“Worried I’m going to mutilate your hand?”

Luke laughed awkwardly. “No, of course not.” Which obviously meant ‘yes, absolutely.’

Din sat next to him and took Luke’s hand into his lap. Electricity hummed under the synthetic skin. Kriffing hell, that must hurt where the metal met flesh. Sheers in hand, he clipped and peeled back the skin. He could see where the inner panels and wires had been absolutely mangled and hiss in sympathy. The actual hand was good quality, though old and not up to model. Can _Jetii_ afford things like limb updates? He pulled off the crumpled panels and a flicker of pain moved across Luke’s face.

Talking, get him talking, distract from the pain.

“This is a pretty good job for being so old,” Din said, clearing his throat, and Luke nodded.

“My sister commissioned it.”

“She got her credits worth.”

Luke hmmed and Din rolled his shirt sleeve back for a better look at the wiring. The seam between the metal and flesh was nearly perfectly straight. Impressive.

“Damn, she did. The medic did a wonderful job of cutting back the muscle and bone to make it fit so flush.”

Luke laughed, the kind of laugh that once used to bitter but now held a sad regret.

“No cutting down. Lightsaber cuts tend to be pretty straight.”

Din was careful to keep his hands moving.

“Lightsaber? I guess that makes sense, with the whole _Jetii_ thing.”

“Yeah…” Luke went silent for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before—“it was my father.”

Din’s hands stop moving. They stop moving and his head jerks up to Luke’s, and the _Jetii_ meets his eyes head on.

“Did you kill him?”

Luke spluttered. “What? No!”

Din shrugged. “Just figured I’d ask. It’d be a fair response.”

Luke sighed. “My father wasn’t a good man. He did despicable things, but there was good in him. Given the choice between power and me, he chose me. Can you understand that?”

Din was suddenly very, very glad to have his helmet. How many bars of Baskar had he taken in exchange for the life of the Child? Twenty-five? Thirty?

There was blood on Din’s hands, he knew that. He’d bring you in warm or cold, choaking in carbonite until your fob was delivered. Frankly, Din didn’t care. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but the thought of Grogu not seeing him as one? It gutted him.

“He loved me. He died protected me. He died in my arms. And if I had to lose my other arm to have more moments with him—hell, my arm, my legs, my kidneys—I’d cut them off in an instant.”

Din found he couldn’t move. His hands cradle Luke’s open hand, their fingers so close to touching,

“Do you understand?” Luke asked, voice less than a whisper. Din couldn’t look away from him. Luke’s eyes were like the Tatooine sky.

“… Yes.” Din said. The word was dizzying. “I do.”

Luke smiled, and Din was sure he had just been punched in the gut.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Luke said, his good hand coming to rest on top of Din’s working ones.

“Grogu is excited to—”

“I’m glad _you’re_ here.” His face was too open, eyes too blue… He gave a cheeky little grin. “Mr. Mando.”

“Din. Din Djarin.” Din breathed.

Luke’s brow furrowed.

“That’s my name.”

“O—oh. Well.” Luke squeezed his hand and then, slowly, untangled it from his open wrist and pressed it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Din Djarin.”


	5. Ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is on the shorter side! but hintings of the plot are starting to emerge so hopefully that makes up for it! feedback from yall makes writing this feel so worth while, seriously, thank you!
> 
> Mando'a in order of appearance:  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Cyare - a word similar to beloved

The next morning started with a painfully cheery knock on the door. Din bolted up, the Child squealing as he tumbled off Din’s chest, and Din rushed to slide his helmet back over his head. He’d taken to removing most of his Baskar off as he slept, a luxury he had never previously been able to afford. He knew it wasn’t wise, but the feel of linen sheets, a soft mattress, and feeling the softness of Grogu’s skin against him was too tempting. He debated scrambling for where it sat, polished and perfect on the entryway table, but then the knock came again. Din swore. Accepting that the helmet would have to do, he pulled open the door.

Skywalker— _Luke—_ stood in the doorway, looking far too chipper for the early hour, which was saying a lot for Din, who made a point to be up and ready as early as possible. His arms were bare, dressed only in a worn tank top and green sweats tucked into running boots. His right hand was covered by a grey cotton glove, bandages poking out from the hem. Din had wrapped those bandages, using careful movements and delicate fingers to help keep the fragile metal in place until a professional could arrive. Luke brushed a stray strand of blond hair out of his face.

“Morning Din.” He said with a smile and something about how Luke said his name made a shiver run down Din’s back. He could see Luke’s collarbones, his toned arms—he hadn’t realized how much muscle was underneath the _Jetii’s_ robes given his slight frame. In the pale morning light, he could see a speckling of freckles across his shoulders. He looked unnaturally young like this.

Din felt something tighten and turn in his gut. He resisted the urge to reach forward and brush his fingertips across Luke’s freckles. Luke’s Tatooine sky eyes widen and the bridge of his nose dusted pink. Kirff it, Din had been staring.

“You, uh. You’re not wearing your armor.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t sleep in 30 pounds of Baskar. Uncomfortable for the baby.”

“Oh. Right. Is he asleep?”

“You woke him, but I’m sure he’s drifted back off by now.’

“Good!” Luke smiled again and Din was sure the heat on his face had to be Yavin IV’s oppressive atmosphere. Luke extended his good hand, fingers delicate and calloused. “I’m going out for a run and was wondering if you would join me.”

Din stared at the extended hand. He shouldn’t leave Grogu unsupervised and yet…

“Fine,” He said gruffly. “Let me put on my boots.”

“Right, right, of course,” Luke said, and as Din moved back inside Luke leaned against the open door frame. Din checked in the bedroom—sure enough, Grogu was nearly purring inside a pillowcase, little green head resting on the bare pillow. As he buckled up his boots, Din could hear Luke step inside.

“You haven’t put up any pictures,” Luke said. Din kept his breathing steady. “Or—anything, really.”

“I wasn’t aware that was a requirement.” Din drawled and Luke bit his lip.

“I just mean—people usually like to bring things, make it feel a bit more like home.”

Din bit back a laugh. “My home got blown up.”

Luke's eyes went wide. “I—I didn’t know, I’m so sorry—”

“It was a ship, Skywalker, not kriffing Alderaan.”

The joke fell flat fast, the corner of Luke’s mouth falling, and Din had the sudden urge to back peddle and back peddle hard, something he didn’t think he’d ever done for someone before.

“Luke,” the _Jetii_ said finally. “It’s Luke, not Skywalker.” 

Din swallowed. “Luke.”

“We should head out before it gets too hot,” Luke said, already moving out of the suite. The door locked with a ‘snap’ at the twist of his fingers before Din could touch it. By the Maker, this Force thing was uncomfortable to deal with.

Even without 30 pounds of Baskar, Yavin IV’s atmosphere was heavy and oppressive and miserably warm.

“Before it got _too hot_?” Din said, and a bit of the brightness came back to Luke’s face—and then he was off without warning, leaving Din in the dust with a too-sweet laugh.

It took only a few seconds to catch up and Luke was careful to keep a manageable pace, weaving easily through the trees.

“It’s honestly not hot at all,” He said, and Din supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the _Jetii_ was planning on small talk. “Coming from Tatooine, any planet with only one sun isn’t remotely close to hot. Humid? Annoying? Yes. But the suns of Tatooine—they were _exhausting._ ”

“I didn’t know you were from Tatooine.”

Luke gave him a sly smile. “You never asked.”

“What about you, Mando? Where are you from?”

“I don’t remember,” Din said, surprised by his honesty. He didn’t remember much before the covert. His father’s laugh, the roughness of his fingers. A sister maybe? Or a cousin? The love shining out of terror as his mother clasped his face in her sweaty, shaking hands.

He remembered the explosion of blaster on plaster and metallic footsteps. He remembered the ‘click, click, click’ of droid joints better than he did the sound of his parents telling him they loved him.

“On Tatooine, you either come from somewhere or from nowhere,” Luke said in reply, and Din was glad Luke hadn’t tried to apologize, to sympathize, just moved on instead. Luke didn’t expand on his statement. Din didn’t ask him to. They moved in silence after that, just Luke’s soft, even breaths and the stamp of his feet on moist, squishy ground. Now that he had mentioned his birth planet, Din could better place Luke’s outer rim accent.

Din heard the running water before he saw it, and then the mud was sucking down on his boots. Luke switched directions and waved him on until Din’s boots were splashing up greenish muddy water. It seemed to happen almost instantaneously. One moment he was smothered under the trees and their canopy and the next there wasn’t a tree in sight, just a stretch of dark, smooth, still green water. Yavin IV’s single sun reflected down on it, the planet Yavin visible on the skyline. The ending notes of a sunset turned to golden waves on the water’s mirror edge.

It was hard to tell where the water started and the bank stopped, and Din almost walked clear off the edge if not for Luke grabbing him lightly by the shoulder and pulling him back.

“Careful.” He whispered, close enough to touch, and Din refused to admit he shivered.

With that, Luke dropped down into the mud, untied his boots, rolled up his sweats, and stuck his feet in the water with a contented sigh. He pated a spot in the mud and Din sat.

“Yavin looks so beautiful this time in the morning.” He said, and Din mutely nodded. “I don’t miss Tatooine often, but those binary sunrises…” He let out a low whistle. Silence stretched for a moment, soft and comfortable.

“Are you happy here?” Luke asked suddenly.

“Grogu seems to like—”

“I know Grogu likes it here. Younglings aren’t very good at shielding—his emotions radiate from him. I’m asking if _you_ are happy here.”

Din swallowed. Was he happy here? Was this better than moving free as a bird from planet to planet, each day an adventure, coming home to a covert who loved him? Could he even have that now? No ship, no Guild, no covert…

“I’m happy because he’s happy.” He said finally and found it was the truth.

Luke smiled at him. “You’re a good bouer.”

Din snorted. “I’m sorry, a good _what?_ ”

“Bouer? Isn’t that—that—well, Grogu has been making progress on his speaking and he talks a lot in what I assume is Mandalorian and he calls you that sometimes so I thought—“

Din was laughing now, a full-bodied, booming laugh, and Luke flushed bright red.

“Oh Maker, your pronunciation is worse than a literal infant.” He snorted, and somehow Luke’s face reddened more. Finally, Din caught his breath.

“Mando’a, not Mandalorian. That’s a people, not a language. And buir, parent.”

Luke squawked. “Bouer! That’s what I said!”

“That is _not_ what you said,” Din said, face split into a grin so large it hurt, and he realized in a quiet moment that he might not have smiled this wide in front of someone who wasn’t Grogu since Omera. The thought was warm, and he carefully hid it away for safekeeping. “B _a_ -b _a_ —you spit the vowel out, and then the o sound is long and drawn out, and the er is hard. Like you’re angry.”

“Aren’t Mandalorians always angry?” Luke dawdled, and Din rolled his eyes. “I think it’s sweet that you’re teaching him Mando’a.”

“He’s a foundling. He has a right to his culture. Surely it’s the same for you and your boy.”

Luke went surprisingly quiet. “That’s… complicated.”

“He’s your foundling. Of course it isn’t.”

Luke looked away from him across the lake. There was a look on his face Din had never seen before, somehow close to a pained mocking.

“Have you been to Tatooine, Mando?”

Din shrugged. “A handful of times.”

“Ever worked for a slaver?”

“No, never. Been asked to a couple of times. Track some runaways or a slaver’s illegitimate—”

Luke let out a bitter laugh. The ugly sound seems so _wrong_ coming out of that soft mouth.

“You don’t ‘track’ runaways. If a slaver really wants them so bad, they’ll just…” He jerked his hands in mimicry of an explosion. Din narrowed his eyes at Luke. The _Jetii_ still refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m the first freeborn in my family for generations,” Luke said flatly, and then Din heard nothing but static.

Freeborn… _freeborn._

Din wasn’t stupid, he was raised in the outer rim. He knew the spice trade was carried on the back of slaves, that the Hutts’ crime syndicate funded a galaxy-wide slave trade. With the head of the Hutt mob living in his palace on Tatooine, the desert planet with its binary suns was the hub of the outer rim’s slave trade. If you wanted a slave, you went to Tatooine. And Luke Skywalker was freeborn.

“Oecc,” The word was dusty and soft, like a moving dune, like brushing sand off a cheek. He moved his right hand to his temple, palm relaxed and horizontal, and moved it up in an oval before drawing it down and brushing forward. “Oecc. Father. Buir.”

Din watched him move, transfixed. “Tusken?” He asked. He didn’t recognize the word; it was too soft for the Raiders but they were the only beings Din knew that moved their hands like that. It certainly wasn’t Galactic Basic Sign Language. Luke let out a small, small laugh.

“No. It’s Ours.”

There was a stress on the word ‘our’ that Din didn’t understand the meaning of—wasn’t sure he even had the right to understand.

“If you can speak silently you cannot be overheard. No master can listen to secrets.”

Din kept his body language as still and flat as he could manage. Luke drew concentric circles in the mud, finger moving around and around and around…

“They put a chip in Our side, threaten to send Us into the sky as nothing more than pink mist, steal Our voice. So, We learn to speak without words.” He sighed and turned to look to the sky. The orange of the remaining sunrise speckled his skin. “My father was a free man, ever since he was a child. He lived a free life.”

“The same one that cut off your arm?”

Luke snorted. “Yes, that one… It’s not a secret,” he said. “I mean, that I come from slaves. Skywalker is a slave name. Skywalker, Darklighter, Sandhoms, Simwaste. Even without a chip or a brand, you continue to carry a master’s mark. Some freemen choose to change it. I know a girl, Jena Simwaste, who married the first willing person she would find as soon as she was old enough just to get rid of that name. But I don’t judge her—you know how old I was the first time I had to prove I was _really_ freeborn? Nine. Got dragged down to the courthouse all by myself, stripped and poured over with a scanner to make sure there wasn’t a chip stuck in there somewhere. My aunt came in swearing up a storm and took me home. She let me sleep in her and Uncle Owen’s bed and eat all the doughcakes I wanted after dinner, but it still taught me what a Skywalker really was. But it is my father’s name. I will not be ashamed of my father’s name.” He mindlessly kicked his legs, sending ripples of water into the mud.

“I think my mother named Leia. It’s a Naboo name. But I know my father chose mine. Luke. _Lukasz_. Water-- and Hope. They’re the same word. With water comes hope, and with hope comes water.”

He pressed two fingers to his lips and dragged them down into a fist. “Lukasz. Water. Hope.”

“It suits you,” Din said softly. Luke smiled softly, one side quirking higher than the other.

“You think so?”

“If there was anyone who’d make me think of hope, it’d be you.”

Din could have sworn the _Jetii_ blushed. “I’m afraid the word bounty hunter doesn’t carry such a positive connotation.”

Din grimaced. “I can imagine.” He’d been mocked before, multiple times, for not working with slavers, and he was sure the two were one and the same in Tatooine.

“How do you say thank you?”

“Dikoc.” Luke said, bringing three fingers to his forehead and drawing them down and away from his body.

“Dikoc.” Din repeated, mirroring the movement. Luke’s smile made something in his chest stutter.

“I have to say, your pronunciation is terrible.”---

\---

Grogu fidgeted in the back row with the younger children. The staff in his hand was more of a stick, and he had been told to practice balancing it through different motions (the said homework he had been neglecting) but Gorgu seemed more included to poke his neighbors with it.

“Grogu!” Din hissed from the back of the room. “Pay attention!” Grogu turned with a look of utter innocence and poked Finn in the foot. Finn giggled and poked him back.

Sitting on the mat beside Din, Luke rolled his eyes. Even with a proper altercation to his hand, he hadn’t been cleared for any hand to hand exercise and had taken instead to lounging in the back of classrooms. The thing that surprised Din was the invitation to join him. Something had passed between that morning at the lake. Luke, who had always been an open person, saved some kind of sweet vulnerability for Din and Din alone—Din would have to be blind not to notice it. There was an overwhelming urge to return it, to show Luke the same trust the _Jetii_ was showing him, if not for Gorgu’s sake than anything else, but then his face would start to itch and burn with the memory of Luke’s eyes on his bare skin and he would be unable to bring himself to think of being any more ‘vulnerable’ than that. Luke had seen him at his absolute lowest. He couldn’t let that happen again. Him comm beeped—Fett. He’d blown him off the past few days to run in the mornings with Luke, and he was surprised by how guilty he felt. Luke waved him off and Din left the hall, clicking on the comm. Fett bloomed into view looking surprisingly grandiose with suspiciously dark liquid splattered across his helmet.

“So, you finally decided to pick up.”

“I’ve been busy with—”

“ _Jetii_ things?” Fett drawled, and Din sighed.

“ _Jetii_ things.”

“How would you like to get off planet for a day or so?” Fett asked, and Din’s eyes narrowed.

“I finished a job I’ve been working on in Tatooine.” He continued. “Let's say the planet is under ‘new management’. I’ve put a lot of work into this, Djarin, and I want you to see.”

“See a corpse?”

“See my new empire.”

Din groaned. “Fett, what did you do.”

“Pest control. I know how this planet should be run. Me and Fennec—we’re going to bring this place to the glory it deserves. I’m hosting a party to celebrate taking out the trash. Come, get drunk, bring the baby. I want to meet him personally.”

“Does alcohol and children mix?”

“Then don’t get drunk!”

“Luke would never let me leave.”

“Are you that scared of him?”

“Luke would never let the baby leave.”

Fett barked out a laugh. “So, you really are scared of the _Jetii_.”

“Of course not!”

“You sound like it.”

Din sighed through his teeth. “If I can get a ship, I’ll be there. I can’t promise Grogu will come, but I can try.”

Din can almost see Fett’s grin under his mask. “You won’t regret it, _cyare_!” Fett called before canceling the call.

Din stared at where the bounty hunter’s face used to be. _Cyare_? _Cyare_ … Oh fuck.


	6. Tracking Chip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some tw for some gross gory kinda stuff. a person gets blown up. yikes haha
> 
> have a long chapter!! i wrote this in one sitting so i apologize for any mistakes. feedback is a huge motivation!

When Luke opened the door, his eyes were bleary and narrowed, and his blond hair was a tangled mess. It brought Din a strange, private joy to know that this powerful, Death Star destroying _Jetii_ still woke up with bedhead.

Luke blinked. “Din, with the most due respect, you better have a kirffing good reason to make me up at 3 in the Maker damned morning.”

“I didn’t wake Finn, did I?” Din asked. He knew what a pain it was to get a child back to sleep. Luke’s eyes narrowed.

“No. Thankfully—for your sake.”

“Grogu is sick,” Din said. He always considered himself an alright liar—at least 6 out of 10, maybe a 7. But the wide, open concern on Luke’s face made his resolve shake for just a moment.

“Do you need me to come see him? How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine, just a fever, a bit of vomit. Nothing I can’t handle. I just wanted to tell you so that, you would, you know, you would know that he won’t be in classes today. We’re going to be holed up, just in case anything is contagious.”

Luke ran a tired hand through his hair and nodded.

“I’ll bring by some _krayt dehba_ for lunch—“

“No! I mean—I’ve got it under control. I don’t want you sick, just let me handle it.”

Luke nodded, his tongue poking out between his lips. “You have my comm. Call if you need, alright? It’s okay to accept help, Din.”

Din tried to keep clear composure. Right. Of course. Luke just had to be the sweetest man alive. Shuffling came from inside the suite and Finn’s head poked out.

“Daddy?”

“Go to bed. I’ll see you when Gorgu is… feeling better.”

Luke flashed him a sleepy smile. “Best of luck, Din. Best of luck.

\---

Yavin IV had a painfully small number of ships—Din could take the Imp ship he came in but landing on an Outer Rim planet like Tatooine in an Imp ship didn’t seem wise. In the end, there is a small, cramped thing nearly forgotten in the trees that, with a big of finagling and elbow grease, Din got running. He knelt down and strapped Gorgu into the co pilot seat and set off for Mos Eisley. They’d find their way to the Huttese… palace from there.

His hand hovered over the holoproj on the dashboard. _Cyare…_ maybe Fett had mispronounced something. Maybe it was directed to someone off-screen. Maybe he and Fennec had been fucking, despite the fact that he was fairly positive Fennec was only interested in men if they were target practice. Hell, maybe Boba had been drunk—Din had never seen him drunk before. Maybe he was an incredibly well put together drunk.

Maybe he had meant it. ...Did Din want him to mean it? He didn’t know. And he was going to be sure not to dwell on it, thank you very much.

“Bobie?” Grogu cooed and Din nodded.

“Wanna go see _ori’vod_ Bobie?” He said as he hit the contact number on the holoproj. It didn’t even flicker once before Fett answered.

_“Djarin! And the baby.”_

Grogu let out a happy squeal at the sight of the bounty hunter and began to wiggle in his seat, trying to shimmy out of the seat belt. Din leaned down to the travel bag at the Child’s feet—healthy (or as healthy as he could get the Child to eat) snacks, bacta pads, a coloring pad, and numerous stuffed animals—and held out a cartoonish stuffed womp rat.

“No. Stay in the seat.” He said, but Grogu turned his tiny green nose up at the toy, reaching for the holo. Fett laughed.

_“Where the hell did you get that? That is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen—”_

“One of the moms got it for him,” Din said, trying not to feel self-conscious. “Grogu told her his favorite toy was. Uh. The round top of one of the stick shifts from the ship. So, she bought him some toys.”

Fett let out a single, drawling laugh. “ _What else’d she get ‘im?”_

Din felt his cheeks flush under his helmet. He rummaged through knapsack.

“Uh, someone gave him some of these colorful keys—because apparently babies like those?—and Jacen likes to knit so he knit little Jedi robes and—”

Fett threw back his head, his broad shoulders shaking as Din went on, and on, and—

“And, um, Chewie—“ Din face burned and finally he threw the toy down.

“I’m not a bad father!” He snapped. “I don’t need some _strangers_ telling me how to raise my child—I’m not a bad—”

 _“I never said you were, Djarin.”_ Fett said, smile in his voice. _“You care. It’s cute. Gorgu deserves a buir who cares. He’s lucky to have you.”_ Din’s chest softened and his face went pink for a whole other reason _. “And I’ll bet the stick shift top is still his favorite, isn’t it?”_

Din nodded. He could feel Fett smile under his helmet. _“See? A buir’s intuition.”_

Grogu let out a sound of triumph and finally wiggled free of the safety straps and crawled onto Din’s lap. He pawed at Din’s pocket, knowing full well what was in there, and Din sighed. He readjusted the Child on his lap and plopped the stick shift’s top in his little hands. Grogu let out a pleased coo and promptly stuffed it in his mouth.

“No,” Din said sternly, holding his hand out under Grogu’s chin. “Spit it out.” Grogu jerked his head to the side. “What’s the rule? We don’t get to play with things when we put them in our mouths.”

Grogu gave a sad little mumble and spat it out on Din’s open palm. “There. Now you can play with it.” The Child picked it up again and took to levitating it, passing it from one green hand to the other, and Din wiped his glove on the seat.

“ _So, he can really do it that easily, huh?”_ Fett said, nodding towards the levitating ball. Din sighed.

“He could probably have this craft doing barrel rolls if he wanted to.”

_“Huh. Remind me not to let the little thing in the Slave I. She’s an antique.”_

Din laughed. “So, wanna tell me what the hell is going on down on Tatooine, or are you determined to have me flying in blind?”

“ _Remember the Huttslayer?”_ Fett said, and Din hmmed. It was hard not to. Anyone who had ever even stepped foot in the Outer Rim felt the vacuum that appeared after Jabba the Hutt died—was murdered. Din hadn’t kept an ear out for Alliance business any more than was needed to back when the Empire was in power, but it was impossible not to hear the stories of the Huttslayer. Din always thought the stories were likely exaggerated, but they were cathartic. One of Jabba’s slaves, recently captured bounty, strangling the crime lord with her own chain. Her and her friends—some claimed a Jedi among them, which Din was sure was a load of crap—had decimated Jabba’s fleet, single handedly destroying most of his crime empire. It was the kind of story that kept spice traders up at night. An Alliance plant, some said. A freedom fighter for slaves across the galaxy, said others.

“ _Would you believe me if I said I knew her?”_

Din snorted. “Anyone else, no. But you don’t bother with lying.” It was true. Fett was a surprisingly—almost alarmingly so—truthful man. Din had never met anyone like him, who relied on blinding honesty and a masterful trigger finger to move his way through the galaxy more than anything sleezy. “What was she like?”

“ _Like a pissed krayt dragon. You wouldn’t believe the mouth on her. Had we met on better terms it would have been a pleasure. When she threw Jabba’s hulking carcass into the backyard sarlacc pit—”_ Fett let out a long, low whistle.

“ _But all Jabba’s holds on the trading lanes, spice dealerships, the Outer Rim’s slave trade—all that shit—opened like a black hole and kriffing Bib Fortuna stepped in. Bib was a practically the_ help _, a kirffing doormat—what the hell did he know about regulating slave and spice movements?”_

“Didn’t take you for a politician.”

” _I’m not. Shot him three times in the head.”_

“Pew! Pew pew!” Gorgu cried out, tiny bow scrunched and hand held out in the closest mimicry to a baster he could get with three fingers. Fett chuckled.

“ _That’s right, little one. Pew pew pew. You should have seen him, fat as a pig and twice as greasy. I was doing him a favor. He had the most convoluted idea to bring in credits by salvaging the Outer Rim’s mangled slave industry. So, I helped him solve his problem.”_ The bounty hunter snorted and someone off screen, likely Fennec, groaned.

 _“You know you’re not funny!”_ She cried.

 _“Kirff you!”_ Fett called over his shoulder and Din could hear Fennec’s cackle echoing behind him.

“So, does this make you a Hutt?” Din asked. Fett shuddered.

“ _It better kirffing not. A Hutt and a Mand'alor. Maker help us all.”_ And then he was laughing again, a rough, smokey, _warm_ sound, and Din felt his guts flip flop. _Cyare._

Maker help him.

\---

Din always underestimated how much he hated Tatooine. The temperature regulator of his Baskar wiring only kept out so much heat—the brutal rays of Tatooine’s twin suns still managed to seep into the joints and neck of the flight suit, bunching up the fabric with itchy, sticky sweat. His visor clouded with the sweat on his brow and sand always seemed to find its way into his teeth. The dryness of the planet coated his tongue, his eyes, like expired bacta pads. Kriff, he hated Tatooine. How Luke survived nineteen years on this dust pile was beyond him.

Din heard the music and shouting from the palace before he saw it, but that didn’t make seeing Jabba’s old palace any less impressive. It was ugly, brown and gritty and made of worn metal and stone, but it stood out against the sandstone like a massive monument, towering over the desert around it. A bouncer with a protruding underbite let him in with a growl. Din had never met Jabba personally—frankly, he was glad about that—and wasn’t sure if the…merriment… around the palace was strange or usual for the place. The main room was packed, sound bouncing off the walls, the smell of sweat, smoking spice, and warm food filling the air. And there, in the back of the room, lounging on Jabba’s throne with such ease that Din would have guessed he was born there, was Fett.

His armor wasn’t as pristine as it had been on Slave I, his helmet a tad dented, but he looked cool and confident, and raised his hand in greeting when he noticed Din.

“Mando! Took you long enough." He said, and Din could practically _feel_ the grin under Fett’s helmet. Fennec lounged across the side of the throne, feet kicked over the back and holding a glass of something smoking and undoubtedly alcoholic. The crowd parted as Din pushed through it—apparently, Fett signaling out someone was enough for curiosity. Fett straightened on his throne and kirff, he looked good on it. Arm draped lazily over the armrest, legs spread, head held with casual and undeniable confidence. He was a krayt dragon curled up proud and warm in her hole, whole sand dunes shuddering with her purr. Din felt a sudden embarrassing urge to run a hand down Fett’s open thigh. Fett cocked his head and Din swallowed. He’d been staring.

“Out of all the places you decided to set up shop you just had to choose Tatooine.” Din deadpanned, and Fett laughed, a bronzy sound that echoed over the noise of the chaotic room.

“Don’t care for her twin suns?”

“Don’t like tracking sand into the ship every time I move.”

Fennec nodded with a smirk, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “No sonic shower will ever get sand out of your scalp. You’re lucky you’ve got a helmet over that mop, Mando.”

“Just shave it,” Fett said and Fennec elbowed him.

“ _Please,_ having your hair follicles seared off by sarlacc bile doesn’t count as shaving.”

“Leaves a _smooooth_ glossy finish.” He said with a teasing purr and Fennec rolled her eyes. Grogu cooed around the ball he had stuck in his mouth—damn it, someday the little dirt bug would choke on that and Din knew nothing about baby Heimlich maneuvers—and reached up to be held from the sling Din had set him in across his chest to his hip. Fennec’s perfectly curved eyebrow raised, and Fett sat up.

“So, you brought the little womp rat!” He said, and Din could hear the smile in his voice. “Come on, lemme see.”

Din untangled Grogu from the fabric and the Child reached out with tiny little arms to the bounty hunter.

“Oree vod!” He cried, “Oree vod!” Fett took him in his arms, holding him with a gentleness Din hadn’t realized Fett had, cradling him on his thigh, Grogu’s little head resting in Fett’s elbow. Fennec wrinkled her nose.

“It’s hideous.”

“Hush,” Fett said quietly. He ran a gloved finger over Grogu’s brow. “He’s perfect.”

“Never took you for the fatherly type.” She said and Fett shook his head.

“Not father. Ori’vod.”

Fennec jumped off the throne and stretched, bending down to touch her toes and walking her hands between her legs until her shoulders were impossibly far beneath her hips.

“So!” She said, unfolding and bouncing on her toes. “Who thinks they can take me?” The crowd rumbled, a few cries and gauntlets thrown, but Fennec looked over her shoulder with a panther’s grin. “Wanna few quick rounds, Mando? Bet you’re out of practice out there meditating and shit.”

Din glanced towards Grogu. The kid was practically asleep in Fett’s arms.

“Rules?”

“No eyes, no broken bones.” She smirked. “Cocks are fair game. You fine with a blaster? Given the fancy get up and all?”

The crowd parted around them. Din slid down into a fighter’s stance. “I’d like to see you try.”

Fennec set her blaster to stun and reholstered it. She was fast. Din had forgotten just how fast she was from their last fight on Tatooine, and she rushed him, slamming into his chest, and if not for his extra weight Din was sure she would have knocked him prone. He spun, using his momentum to grab her around the waist and send her tumbling. She was up in an instant, striking back with quick, pointed jabs, targeting the joints of his armor where her bare hands wouldn’t meet Baskar. He grabbed a wrist and twisted. Her free hand darted to her side to her blaster. She shot him in the chest, knocking him back, and followed with a quick succession of shots. He stumbled back before running and ramming her again. Fennec gasped, dropping on her back, and Din pinned her.

“Yield.” He said, and Fennec grinned. She shot him in the dick.

Din yanked back, swearing any word in any language he could think off, and Fennec kicked him in the head as he stood.

“Come on!” She cried. “I thought I was fighting a Mandalorian!”

Din rammed her and she met him full force, blocking each swing until a fist of Baskar snapped her head up, hitting just under her chin. Another blow to the chest, the gut, the face, and Fennec dropped, wheezing. Din pinned her again.

“Yield.”

Fennec struggled to find footing underneath him.

“Yield!”

“In better circumstances, I would say I was impressed.” Came a cool voice. It trembled with tightly controlled anger. Din looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The crowd had come to an unsure silence, parting for the new visitor. Luke stood above Din and Fennec, arms crossed against his chest. Fuck.

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

“I decided I would be a good friend and bring by some soup—my Aunt’s _own recipe_ —but imagine my surprise when I found the room empty, a ship stolen, my pupil _gone_ —”

“Luke—”

“Do not ‘Luke’ me, Din Djarin. I am choosing to be disappointed with you because if I didn’t I would be unbelievably angry.”

“Well look who it is. The babysitter decided to join the party.” Fett said and Din cringed inside his helmet. _Please ignore him,_ he begged Luke, _please, please ignore him_. Luke did not ignore him. He gaped for a moment, eyes wide with surprise, they narrowed, darkened despite their Tatooine blue.

“ _You-_ you're supposed to be in a sarlacc gullet!”

“I gave it _indigestion._ ” Fett sneered.

“Get away from Grogu. Give him to me.” Luke hissed through his teeth and Fett scoffed.

“I think Din's little vod is happy where he is.”

“Din, tell your _friend_ to give the kirffing Child back!”

“Luke—”

“I cannot believe you. Letting a man like that hold your child! Do you realize what he is? A bounty hunter! That man murders for a living, do you really think someone like that is fit to be around a child?”

Din stiffened and Luke’s eyes widened.

“I’m not—you’re a good father, Din— I didn’t mean--”

Fett laughed. It was cold and hard and savage, and Din whirled to face him.

“ _Shut up!”_ Din spat. “Both of you just _shut up!_ ”

Then came the explosion.

It shook the whole room, dust dripping from the ceiling, and Din, Fett, and Luke were running outside before the after tremors had even stopped. The sand outside the doors was covered in carnage.

What Din first noticed was the ear. A serving boy poked his head outside, face pale at the sight of all the blood, and Fett thrust Gorgu at him.

“Make sure he’s taken care of.” He growled. “I’ll know if he isn’t.” The boy nodded and ran back inside. The ear lay bloody and torn at Din’s feet. Then a fingerless hand, an arm, and a mutilated face. Small nose, thin tiny lips. A child. And at the middle of all the carnage was a woman. She was dressed poorly for the sands. Her sleeve had been ripped off to tied around the mutilated boy’s boots to keep the sand off, and her lips were cracked with dehydration. Most of her side was missing, arms blown to pieces, neck bleeding rapidly, organs and ribs exposed. Luke kneeled by her head, Fett by her side. He pulled a piece of wired metal from her bleeding flesh.

“Tracking chip.” He said darkly. “She’s a slave. Her ‘Master’ decided she was better off dead than searched for.”

Luke nodded. His face was pained, pale. The woman was babbling nonsense, blood drooling from her lips.

“Enaz…” He whispered to her, moving his hands slowly. Her twitching eyes caught his movements. “Enaz...”

“No, no, no” she moaned, pulling away from him, but Luke gently turned her face to him.

“Skywalker.” He said, and her eyes went wide. “Skywalker. _Trok_.”

She nodded as best she could, and Luke pulled her head in his lap. Din didn’t understand a word Luke spoke, but he recognized the fluid motions of the slave’s sign language. Luke held her close to him as he spoke and signed, rocking her gently until her eyes went glassy and dead. Luke scooped her in his arms and stood.

Fett stared at the woman and when he moved to touch her Luke jerked her away.

“We’ll need her body if we want to figure out who she was running from—" Fett said.

“I won’t let a friend of _slavers_ taint her in death.” He spat, and Fett recoiled.

“How _dare—_ ”

“What was working with Jabba then? A happy accident?”

Fett stiffened, fist clenched, and Din rested a hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, Fett didn’t shove it off.

“It’s not my fault the Empire decided to work with him. I go where my employer goes.”

“So now what, you’re going to scour the galaxy for one slave owner?”

“Yes,” Fett growled. “I’ve made it clear slavery will not be tolerated on my planet.”

Luke laughed. “Clearly you are doing a wonderful job.” He clutched the woman tighter. “You know _nothing_ of this world, of these people. Don’t presume yourself to be some kind of savior.”

“I think this discussion would be better without the woman between the two of you.” Din said, and Luke sighed.

“Fine.”

Fett nodded. He clasped Din’s hand on his shoulder and squeezed. If Luke’s glare became harsher, Din chose not to notice.

\---

It is sundown by the time the woman—Shiva, Luke said, her name was Shiva—was buried, the three moons of Tatooine looking over her and the pieces of her child they were able to put together. The main throne room is empty now save for Din, Fett, Luke, and Fennec. Fett sat stiffly in his throne. Luke sat cross-legged on the floor, still smeared with dried blood.

“I’m going after her ‘Master.’” Fett growled. “You’re either with me or in the way, Skywalker.”

Luke looked up to meet his helmet. “You have no idea what you’re proposing.”

“I’m going to take down every slaver I can find on this side of the Outer Rim,” Fett said. “I know that much.”

Luke sighed. “That is a naïve—”

“So you think we should just let it continue?”

“I never said that!”

“Are you with me, Djarin?” Fett said, and Luke’s faced twisted.

“Din, _please—”_

“Luke knows the ins and out of the slave trade. You know how to track a man down and blow out his brains. It’s better if we work together.” He said. Grogu, who had been returned to him reaches up to touch his breastplate.

Luke sighs "Grogu wants—he wants us to get along and make the bad people go away.” He said softly.

“If it meant bringing freedom to this side of the ‘Rim, I’ll work with a _Jetii_ ,” Fett said, pushing the words through his teeth, and Luke eyed him warily.

“For my people, I’m willing to do anything.” He said softly, and Fett met his eyes again.

“You in Djarin?” He asked. Grogu babbled something and nodded. Din sighed. For them? Anything.

“Fine. Let’s go blast some slavers.” 


	7. rich and scary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see. this chapter is not the best and ends abruptly, but that is bc I was debating even posting it. as a writer, critiques are very important, but some of the people commenting here have been distressingly cruel. if you don't like how i write a character or a ship, you don't have to leave a hate comment. you can just exit out. all it does is make me not want to keep writing. i debated just abandoning this but figured that i *liked* writing this ship and these characters so i'd keep having fun here. so here's the chapter i have been working on. i hope you like it.
> 
> there is a LOT of mando'a this chapter:
> 
> ad'ika - pet name for someone's child  
> buir - parent  
> burc’ya - friend  
> ba’vodu - aunt/uncle  
> keldabe - pressing foreheads together; could be interpreted as a headbutt or a kiss  
> mando - mandalorian, in reference to person or culture, can be adjective   
> jetii - jedi, singular   
> kai'tome - food  
> Dra'kaan Ijaat'la - Canons of Honor; the four most important facts of Mandalorian life: strength, honor, loyalty, and life.  
> "Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule.  
> Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead.  
> Loyalty is life, for without one's clan one has no purpose.  
> Death is life, one should die as they have lived."  
> dral, ijaat, verburyc, kyr'am - strength, honor, loyalty, death  
> Resol'nare - The Six Actions; they comprise the core tenets of being a Mandalorian. it includes:  
> 1\. Wearing baskar.  
> 2\. Speaking Mando'a.  
> 3\. Defending yourself and your family.  
> 4\. Raising your children as Mandalorians.  
> 5\. Contributing to the clan's welfare.  
> 6\. When called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to his cause.  
> su cuy'gar - hello, lit. 'you are still alive'.  
> Gro'ika - little Grogu  
> cuir'yc - 4th duty/requirement   
> beroya - bounty hunter  
> cuyolir - stay  
> gedet'ye - please  
> D'ika - 'little' Din

Luke was angry. Luke was angry with _him,_ and it felt awful. Din rolled over in the borrowed room Fett had given him. Grogu cooed from the pillow next to him. He patted Din’s helmet and Din shook his head.

“Not here, little guy.” He said. Grogu’s ears drooped.

Din could hear Luke and the serving boy whispering outside, their voices amplified by the helmet.

“What’s it like… _working_.. for Fett?” Luke said, trying to sound pleasant.

“If you’re asking if he’s compelling me to work here, he's not! My sister was enslaved under Jabba, then Fortuna—”

Karking hell. Din had always known about the slavery rampant in the Outer Rim, but hearing a what, 13? 14? year-old child speak about it so frankly was nauseating.

“–But when Fett dethroned him, Fett let them all go. He has this big glass jar of all their chips that sits above the doorway of the kitchens. She left Tatooine, wanted to see green. But it’s fine enough here. Gives good housing, food, pays in credits and water.”

“Hm.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you really Luke Skywalker?” The boy said, awe clear in his voice.

“I am.”

“Woah…. I mean, um, nice to meet you Mr. Jedi, sir.”

Luke laughed. “Luke, please. I wasn’t aware Tatooine was so well versed in current politics.”

“Are you kidding? We all know who you are! A _Skywalker_ as a rebel? Who gets to be a Jedi? I’m a Darklighter, you know, three generations. When Jabba died, we all heard about a Skywalker Jedi and a slave Huttslayer—one of us, ya know? Taking on the galaxy.”

“I’m just sorry it took so long to do it,” Luke said softly. “And you don’t mind working under someone who served the Empire? Served Jabba? Took money from a slug who earned it off your sister’s back?”

The boy sighed. “Frankly, Mr. Skywalker, I try not to look a gift bantha in the mouth. I’ve got a roof over my head, credits in my pocket, and my sister is finally off world. That’s enough to keep me happy. Would you like me to set up the bed in your room?”

“I can put on my own sheets, but thank you. Here—” there is shuffling, a small gasp from the boy “—for your sister, the next time you see her. Now go, get some sleep.”

The boy promised to and scampered off, leaving Luke alone in the hall.

“You can stop listening now, Djarin.” Luke called out, and Din was positive he didn’t flinch. Djarin. Not Din, not Mando. “Go to bed.” Luke sighed, and then there were footsteps, then nothing.

Fett had worked for the Empire. That much Din knew. Fett had implied he worked for significantly unsavory individuals over the years, but then, who _didn’t_ in their line of work? Working with the Guild meant better background checks, but Fett had been working since the Guild was in infancy. From his stories, he must have been what, eleven? Twelve? When he took his first job. But Din couldn’t deny it, working with the Hutts, as common as it was, was more than a little unsavory. Din was filled with a desperate need to ask, to drill Fett, to demand an explanation. 

Boba had held up a slugger and promised to blow in the face of any slaver he met. Boba spoke softly of a beloved father with a tattoo on his ribs from a spice mine and a scar from a tracking chip ripped out with a broken mining tool, Jango Fett’s hands shaking and slick with his own blood, teeth clenched. And Boba had taken credits and broke bread with the head of one of the most extensive slave trades in the galaxy.

Din knew Fett wasn’t a man to lie. That was one of the things he admired so much about the older man, his unwavering honesty. Yet he had held a slugger in one hand and took credits from a Hutt with the other.

Would Luke hate him if he knew Din took a job from the Empire? Din didn’t do it often—it always somehow led to politics, which Din avoided like the plague—but he still took a job here and there. And… and collected pounds worth of pure Baskar for Grogu’s head. Would Luke hate him if he knew that? That Din willingly handed over a being he called his _ad’ika_ to Imperials to be experimented on? That he was fully willing to follow the Guild code and forget about the kid, pretend it never happened? _Sure_ , he came back.

But would Luke care?

Grogu cooed by his head and snuggled into his neck. Din risked enough vulnerability to remove his gloves, and the Child relaxed in the warm skin to skin contact. He didn’t want to see Boba as a bad person—but maybe there was where is problem lied. He had let himself see Boba as good at all. Bounty hunters didn’t do ‘good’ or ‘bad’. They merely existed, one against the galaxy. He didn’t want Boba to just exist. He wanted to run ungloved fingers across Boba’s scarred brow and feel the softness that he selfishly thought existed only for him. Kark it, he wanted Boba to be _good._

He didn’t want Boba to be a hypocrite. He wanted Fett to be a man of his words. And as Din stared at the worn sandstone ceiling, running his knuckles across Grogu’s back, Din just knew he wanted Luke to think Din was good too.

\---

Din didn’t sleep that night. He hadn’t spent a night this on edge in weeks; he was a fool. He’d become too used to the quiet serenity of Luke’s makeshift temple, and running the afternoon’s actions in his head just made his thoughts tighten more and more.

An explosion, blood. His hand at Fennec’s throat while Luke stares. _Din Djarin, I am choosing to be disappointed with you because if I didn’t I would be unbelievably angry…_

Din pulled the child closer to him. A surprising spike of anger flared in his chest, but Din wasn’t sure who it was towards. Luke? Fett? Himself?

“ _Buir…”_ Grogu cooed, pressed his tiny hands to his helmet. He pressed his forehead to Din’s visor and Din’s breath stuttered.

“Sorry, little guy. Am I upsetting you?”

Luke had told him of Gorgu’s sensitivity, of his ability to leech in emotions and stray thoughts through the Force, and Din was painfully sure that his own distress was leaking out to the Child.

“It’s alright. Nothing to worry about.” He whispered to Grogu and desperately wished it was true. Had Luke been frightened when he found Din and Grogu gone? Had he thought the Mandalorian had abandoned him, or that they had been taken? Din rolled over and Grogu squeaked as he was almost crushed. Din wasn’t the type to apologize. In his line of work, apologies often left someone dead. But Luke—

Luke had wormed his way into Din’s chest in a way almost no one had before. At least not since Omera. Luke carried sunlight inside him, maybe trapped there from years on Tatooine, and spoke with an easiness that Din never found in anyone else as he traveled the galaxy, fob in hand. Din wanted that warmth— _needed_ that warm—and it frightened him that it had only taken a few weeks to be so attached. Din ran a finger down Grogu’s ear and the Child looked at him, his pupils wide. They were questioning, soft but pushing. Din sighed. No, he would not be bullied by a child.

Grogu chirped. Kriff it.

Din swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Stay.” He said to Grogu, pointing a stern finger at him, and Grogu slowly blinked at him, snuggling back down under the thin, sandy blanket.

The hallway was stuffy and dark. Din kept a hand on the right wall as he stalked through the silence. The stone ground was coated in the sand that snuck into every corner of Tatooine and Din could see Skywalker’s footsteps outlined in the dust, still warm enough to pick up with his thermal view. They stood out among the other footsteps in their strange weightlessness; Luke moved quiet as a mouse and light as a loth-cat on his best moments-- but Din was more than capable of hunting down a loth-cat.

Luke’s room had a lower doorframe than Dins, narrower and shallower. The outer stone was worn, not as cared for as other rooms Din passed—as _his own room—_ and Din almost snorted. Fett had stuck him in the shittiest room he could get away with. So much for an olive branch. Din raised a hand to knock and heard the softest of sounds from inside.

“Go away, Djarin.”

“I just want to talk,” Din said. He pressed his forehead on the door.

“Please,” he said. Din Djarin does not say please. “Luke—"

“Fine.” Comes softly from behind the door. “Just lock the door behind you.”

As dusty and rusty as the room was, at least the lock was solid, large, and sturdy, made of rust-free metal. The door was heavy, likely a fire hazard, but with a good tug Din was able to force it open. It slid shut with a bang behind him. There was little light in the room from the lamp nestled in the corner, but other than that it was dark. Luke sat on the bed, legs crossed, back straight, eyes hidden in his blond fringe.

“Djarin.” He said, voice cold. It sent a rather embarrassing shiver down Din’s spine. Din cleared his throat.

“I came to apologize.” He forced out through his teeth. Luke sighed.

“Din—”

“I shouldn’t have lied. I should have trusted you.”

Silence stretched between the two of them and finally Luke’s stiff body language sagged. “I was frightened. The galaxy isn’t a safe place for force sensitive children—”

“I would have protected him—”

“I _know._ Believe me, I do. But that doesn’t stop me from caring.”

The silence was back, hovering between them, and it settled uncomfortably at the between Din’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry I implied you were a bad father,” Luke said softly. “You’re a good man. You care more than most. You’ve killed for him—you’d die for him. Grogu deserves a father like you.” Luke looked up to him. His eyes were so painfully blue. “I’m sorry.”

Din forced a shrug. He had forced the memory of Luke’s comment out of his head, choosing instead to focus on something, anything else.

_That man murders for a living, do you really think someone like that is fit to be around a child?_

Din was glad his helmet covered the way his face twisted at the thought. Luke patted the bed, offering Din a place to sit.

“How’s Gorgu?”

“Asleep. He’s been anxious. He doesn’t like it when people fight.”

Luke sighed. “He’s too intuitive for his own good. He’s a good kid; you’re lucky.”

“You’re just as important to him now.”

Luke gave him a sleepy smile and shook his head. “I could never come close to his attachment to you. Did you know the Jedi used to refuse attachment? They considered it a dangerous step towards the Dark Side. I think they were just paranoid.”

“Ahsoka implied something like that.”

“That’s right—I keep forgetting you met her. I don’t see her often. She knew my father… I think I make her sad.”

Din fought the urge to fidget. “I spent a good handful of months calling him ‘kid’, when the whole time he had a proper name. I didn’t try hard enough to learn about him.”

Luke ran a hand over the blankets. “You were communicating nonverbally, there wasn’t any way to know that.”

Din hmmed. He was hyper-aware of his vulnerable blabbing and it itched at him. Luke made talking easy, too easy. He needed to stop, to force his mouth shut, but then he looked at those too big Tatooine sky eyes. His stomach churned, turning his tongue into sand. He hadn’t felt so limp under the armor since Omera.

“I’m glad you came with him,” Luke said, “to the Praxeum, I mean.” Then his face hardened. “I thought we had built enough trust there, but I guess not.”

“If I had asked to leave, would you let me?”

“I’m not your _keeper_ Djarin, you are not a _child_ —”

“Would you let me take the Child?”

Luke sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not his father, I can’t tell you what to do—”

“You wouldn’t.”

Luke breathed out through his teeth. “I would have… strongly suggested against it.”

“You _wouldn’t._ ”

Luke didn’t answer, just tilted his head back to look at the sandstone ceiling.

“He has the right to see his family,” Din said, finding the words surprisingly angry.

“When I think of family, I don’t exactly think of _Boba kirffing Fett_ —”

“Because he kills people for a living?”

“Because he tried to kill me! And Han, and Leia, and I don’t doubt for one second he wouldn’t have done the same to Jaina and Jacen for the right price—”

“Boba would _never_ take a bounty on a child. For someone with such personal feelings you sure as hell don’t know the man well enough—”

“I don’t know where you met up with Fett, but he is bad news, Din. Empire bad, Hutts bad. He has the moral backbone of a kryat dagon in heat.”

Din clenched his teeth under his helmet. How dare he, how dare he, how _dare—_

But then hadn’t Boba Fett, who claimed to want to personally rid the galaxy of slavers, worked with one? If Boba couldn’t keep his own creed, what else could he do?

“ _You couldn’t keep your own Creed,”_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bo Katan whispered in his head. “ _What room do you have to judge?”_

“Din?” Luke asked softly. Din blinked. He wasn’t sure how long he had zoned in on the dust on his boots.

“He’s a good _burc’ya,_ a good _ba’vodu.”_ He said, trying to keep his voice strong and steady. It came out painfully soft. Luke leaned forwards and wrapped an arm around Din’s waist, resting his chin on Din’s shoulder. The hair on Din’s neck stood on end, a shudder of something he couldn’t quite place rushing through. It seemed to happen every time he lingered too long around Skywalker.

“I’m not angry with you,” He said. It was a whisper in Din’s ear. “I worry for you. For your safety.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“There is more than one way to be hurt. A blaster isn’t the only way. Your insides—those can be hurt just as well. Maybe worse.”

Din nodded as if he understood. He didn’t think he did.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Luke said softly. “Too many bad memories.”

Din leaned into the touch. “Let me bring Grogu. I’ll… I’ll keep you distracted. For as long as you need.”

Luke hmmed in his ear. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re awake—” _Excuses, excuses—_ “And we’ll both need to be well rested in the morning.” Din could hear Luke swallow. He moved back. He rubbed his mechanical wrist, a nervous habit Din had noticed over the past few weeks. Maybe his affinity to fiddle with machines came over even in subconscious movement.

“I’m sorry,” He said finally, and Din turned to look at him.

“Why the hell are _you_ sorry?”

“I don’t know what your… relation… to Fett is, but he’s obviously careful with the Child. He’s dangerous and slippery and cruel. But if you say Grogu is safe with him, then I’ll believe you. Stars know you’ll gut Fett in an instant if something happens to Grogu. I don’t trust Fett in the slightest. I’ll make that clear. But I trust you.”

Din looked at him, at his wide eyes and freckles barely visible in the dim light, at the ways his bangs curled around his temples, at the too-early crows feet at the corner of his eyes. Stars, he was beautiful. Not handsome, not attractive, but beautiful. His features were too plain for a man of his power. Of his heart. Slowly, giving Luke time to move away, Din brough his hand to the back of Luke’s head, burying his fingers in the curls at the base of Luke’s neck, and tilted their heads together. Din let himself linger with the weight of Luke’s forehead on his helmet, of Luke’s sharp inhale and gentle exhale, before pulling back. It wasn’t a keldabe kiss. It couldn’t be, not Luke not knowing anything of _Mando_ culture. It wouldn’t be fair. Still—

Din would know.

Luke tongue darted out to brush against his lower lip. “I’ll—I’ll go get Grogu. You make yourself comfortable.”

Din didn’t think he could ever be comfortable again after that, but he gave a curt nod and watched as Luke left, the door banging shut behind him. The sheets were filled with sand but the thread count was high, and after dwelling for a moment Din unlaced his boots. He kept his socks on and stuffed his gloves inside a boot.

The door opened. Grogu was placed in his arms. The lamp was turned off. Somewhere beside him, Skywalker settled.

Din ran his bare fingers over Grogu’s ears and tried to pretend Luke wasn’t inches away. He wasn’t sure if or when he fell asleep.

\---

When Din woke he couldn’t breathe. He had gotten quite used to the feeling over the past few months. Grogu liked skin-to-skin contact and often the only place he could find it when Din was suited up was the thin line of flesh at his neck not covered by flight suit. Grogu loved to snuggle there, not caring for his father’s need to breathe until it became too uncomfortable and Din moved him. Din grunted and groped at the sleeping body on his neck. It was warm and fuzzy, with thick fur. Din’s eyes flew open.

It was sandy brown and gray, with gigantic golden eyes and ears almost as big as its head. At first glance, it might have been a loth-cat, but it was too small and too thin, head smaller and mouth pursed. A rather pathetic sounding yelp came out of Din’s mouth as he shoved the thing off of him. Luke rolled over.

“….what?” He mumbled, and a sleepy smile bloomed on his face at the sight of the create. “Oh, you found a tatoo-at!” he said with a yawn and gathered the thing in his arms. It began to purr.

“What the _hell_ is that?”

“Aw, don’t be so mean, it’s harmless. It’s a tatoo-at, they eat mice and such, good to have around. Certainly better tempered than a loth-cat and twice as cute. Oh look, it has a collar. Do you belong to someone, little guy?”

Sure enough, it did, a red leather strip with a softly flashing tracker on it. Gorgu mumbled something, officially awake.

“Morning, little one,” Luke murmured, running a hand through his already untamed hair. “Didja sleep well?” Grogu just cooed but Luke nodded as if the Child had said something of great importance.

“I see. And you, Mr. Mando?”

“I slept.”

Luke frowned. “Well, a little is better than none.”

He stood, stretched, and held out a hand. With embarrassing hesitation, Din took it. The Child gave a sharp whine and Din scooped him up, tucking him in the crook of his elbow. Fett had held him so gently, like something precious. There was nothing gentle about the bounty hunter, nothing soft, but his touch had been delicate and caring, and it settled that lie Din held in his chest that Fett was _good._ Not a cold neutral, but a gentle good.

Kriff, Din was getting soft.

The tatoo-at walked in a lazy circle on the bed before jumping up onto Din’s shoulder with light feet. It weighed next to nothing on his pauldron.

“Uh-uh, down,” Din grunted, grabbing at the thing. It nipped at his fingers with a hiss when his hand got too close and leaped onto his helmet, scampering on the other pauldron, and sunk its claws in his cowl. “ _No—”_

Luke’s songbird laugh echoed in the stuffy, sandy room and Din glared at him. “This is _not_ funny—”

“I think it’s cute,” Luke said, meeting his gaze good-naturedly. “First Grogu, now wildlife— I think it’s your motherly, disarming personality.” He said with a smirk as he reached up and plucked the tatoo-at off of him. The little beast wiggled in the _Jetii_ ’s grasp, yowling, and Luke softly dropped it onto the floor. It hissed at him and ran to the door.

“You want out little one? Here—”

Luke had only opened the door a crack before the tatoo-at wiggled its way into the hallway, bolting down into the gloom without so much as a pawprint behind it.

Luke smiled. “I forgot how squirmy they were.” Din scrunched his nose.

“More of a dog person.”

“Don’t worry, Tatooine has those too.” Luke opened the door fully, sending a puff of sand into the air. “Ugh. I always forget how much I hate sand. It gets absolutely _everywhere._ ”

Grogu finished rubbing the sleep from his eyes and tugged on Din’s cape with a coo..

“Katomy.” He squeaked, and Din smiled under his helmet.

“ _Kai'tome, ad’ika_.” Din corrected. Grogu stuck out his tongue and repeated the word, and Din rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, _kai'tome._ I’ll find you some food, kid.” He readjusted Grogu on his hip and made his way down the hall, Luke right on his heels.

“So,” Luke said, trying to keep up with his wide gait. “How do you and Fett, uh, know each other?”

“He was my ride,” Din said, words clipped—Boba was more than his ride to Gideon’s ship, always had been and always would be. For a man who didn’t claim his _Mando_ heritage, Boba carried the _Dra'kaan_ _Ijaat'la_ with him everywhere. _Dral, ijaat, verburyc, kyr'am._

Din had been taught since he first stepped foot into his clan that to be _Mando_ was to follow and stand for the _Resol'nare_ for the rest of his life until he could march on. But he doubted Boba could even name all six _Resol'nare_ —yet Din didn’t doubt that he saw more of his covert in the bounty hunter than he had in Bo Katan Kryze and every one of the _Mando'ade_ with her.

 _Ijaat—_ that sure as hell was something Bo Katan didn’t have.

“Just that?” Luke said, sounding insultingly hopeful. “Really?”

“Cut it, Skywalker.”

Din could almost hear the frown slip back onto Luke’s face and bit back a sigh. The hallway opened into a wide sitting room covered in low couches, rugs, and pillows, smelling strongly of dust. As plush as the décor was, it obviously was not often used. Wide, arched windows let in blazingly hot light, and in the center of the room was a large table, meant to sit dozens. Instead, only two people sat, eating a spread of meat and produce. Fett’s helmet sat next to him on the sandstone table and Fennec sat low in her chair, feet propped up on the table. She lifted a gloved hand in acknowledgment as she took a hefty bite of some kind of fruit.

“Feet off the table,” Fett grunted. Fennec flipped him off.

“Morning Mando.” She said around her breakfast, and Grogu waved at her. Fett wiped his mouth on the back of his glove.

“Mando—” He’s cut off by the tatoo-at bolting from in between Din’s legs and bounding up onto the table, racing over to Fett and butting its tiny head into his neck.

“Jango! So that’s where you’ve been, you little monster.” He ran a finger down the tatoo-at’s spine and the feline meowed, arching its back. It crawled onto his shoulder and curled its tail around his neck.

“And here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of the thing for good,” Fennec said, but there was humor in her voice. The tatoo-at—Jango?—hissed at her and Fett snorted.

 _“Ba'vodu!”_ Grogu said, reaching towards Fett. The bounty hunter laughed.

“His pronunciation is better every day. You’re teaching him well. Come hear you little womp rat.”

Grogu wiggled out of Din’s grasp and onto the table and waddled over to Fett who happily hoisted him up into his arms.

“ _Su cuy'gar, Gro’ika_.” He said softly. Grogu reached up and placed his little green hands on each cheek. The brown skin was smooth; sarlacc stomach acid had burned off almost every hair follicle on Fett’s face—cheeks and chin, his smooth, sloping scalp, eyebrows and eyelashes. All gone.

“Bobo.” The Child babbled and boinked his head against Fett’s nose. Fett smiled. He leaned his head down a little, allowing the Child the height needed to smack his forehead against Fett’s. Din stomach flip-flopped. Fett would make a good _buir_ , would uphold the _cuir'yc_ _ali'nar_ of the _Resol'nare_ well.

“Sleep well, Djarin?” he asked. Grogu snuck a piece of fruit off his plate.

“Slept,” Din grunted, and for the smallest moment, a frown flickered on Fett’s face.

“Sit, eat. We gotta talk.” Fett said, sliding down two plates. They clattered on the stone table and before they could spill their food Luke flicked out a hand. Food froze in the air and slowly returned to the dishes and the plates slid forward at a steady pace. Grogu giggled, moving out of Fett’s arms, and clapped his little hands.

“Show off,” Din murmured, low enough for only Luke’s ears, and the _Jetii_ snorted.

Fett’s brow creased. Grogu waddled across the table to Din and Luke and flopped face first into Luke’s chest. Fett’s face tightened more.

Fett pulled from one of the pockets along his belt a warped black square and tossed it on the table between them. Din sunk into a chair next to him, and Luke across. The warped tracking chip was stark against the pale rock.

Fennec took another bite of fruit, juice dripping down her chin, as if completely unaware of the growing tension in the room. Din knew she wasn’t, knew though hawk eyes were soaking in every twitch, every breath, but Fennec had an impeccable sabacc face.

Luke reached for the chip and turned it over in his hands.

“It’s high quality. Most chips wouldn’t survive being detonated. It was designed to last postmortem—”

“So that they could find what was left of her,” Fett said darkly.

“So, we’re looking for someone wealthy,” Din said. Luke passed him the chip. “Who wanted to be sure the job was done.”

“Or took some kind of pleasure in seeing their handiwork.” Fennec said through her full mouth. Luke shivered.

Din swallowed. The chip was near weightless, yet impossibly heavy.

“Why here?” Luke asked suddenly, tucking Grogu close to his chest. “Why come here? I recognized her accent—she was from the Hajji region, which is a stop in the Trail. There had to be someone there who would help her.”

“Unless she was desert walking—”

“ _No,”_ Luke said, cutting Fett off. “No, she wouldn’t, not with a child—”

“Plenty of people drag children into a desert walk with them—”

“What’s a desert walk?” Din asked, and Luke ran his gloved hand down his face.

“The last resort.” He said softly.

“Suicide by desert.” Fett echoed. “You pick a spot on the desert horizon and walk for as long as you can. Then you crawl. Then you stop and become dinner for the pack of womp rats that next find you.”

No one spoke. The heat coming from the open window was suddenly both unbearable and completely absent.

“She didn’t strike me as a woman who had decided to die,” Din said. The chip seemed to hum in his hand. “Which means there was another point to come here and not—” he glanced to Luke, tilting his helmet a slight degree.

“To a stop on the Trail.” Luke supplied.

“She was probably looking for asylum,” Fennec said. All three men looked at her. “If she went down the Trail there was still the possibility of being found and taken back. But if she was under Fett’s protection she’d be safe for as long as she was under his roof. She thought her master was too powerful to let her slip away like everyone else, but not powerful enough to stand up to us.”

“Wonderful,” Luke said “Someone rich and scary. Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“Already frightened, _Jetti_?” Fett said with a smug smile and Luke narrowed his eyes.

“Just taking in the scenery, Fett.”

Din didn’t like the way he spat out Boba’s name, like a bitter insult or cruel slur.

“Good. I’d hate to have to leave you behind.”

“Saying as how _I’m_ the only one here with any experience surrounding the slave trade or the Hutts, maybe it would be best if you took a step back.”

“You really think anyone is going to listen to a twink who can’t even hit 2 meters? A proper slaver will take one look at your chubby karkin’ cheeks and laugh.”

“The last time you were laughing at me you wound up in the gut of a sarlacc so maybe—”

Fett jumped to his feet, the chair scraping the stone floor behind him, and Luke’s left hand rested at his hip, still plenty far from his lightsaber but enough to be a threat.

“You wouldn’t,” Fett scoffed, and Din pulled Grogu off the table.

“Fett.” He growled, gaze flickering between the two men. Fett jerked his head to him.

“Oh, I’m the one deserving of a lecture?” He spat, and Din could swear there was something close to hurt in his eyes.

“There’s a child here.” Din grit out, and that seemed to be enough to defuse the situation. Luke sighed and sat up straighter, and slowly Fett sunk back into his chair. Fennec tossed her finished fruit pit over her shoulder.

“So, we know they’re rich enough for a fancy tracker and ‘scary’ enough that she didn’t think she’d be safe on the Trail.” Din continued. Grogu began pulling on Din’s leg, demanding up. “Now what?”

“It’s a tracker,” Fett said, and Din passed it over to him. “It shouldn’t be hard to reverse engineer it and get it tracking _them_.”

“Not hard?” Luke said, obviously impressed. Fett shrugged.

“I’m good with tech,” Fett said, turning over the chip in his hand. “My _buir_ taught me a lot of stuff. A _beroya_ always has to be prepared.”

“Bounty hunter,” Din told Luke at his obvious confusion at the word. Luke nodded.

“Your parent—”

“—Father—”

“—taught you how to be a, uh, bounty hunter?” He said. It was a peace offering passed across the table. Fett nodded, not offering much information after.

“Alright then. We get the chip working and set off. How soon can you get it working?”

“Gimme an hour, maybe two.”

Luke nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” He said, and Fennec snorted. She stood, stretched, and took hold of Luke’s shoulder.

“Fett gets crabby when he’s working. I’d move your ship before any Jawa’s get too close, Skywalker. Come on.” She nearly hoisted him up out of the chair and steered him up out of the room before he could protest. Din stood, settling Grogu in the crook of his arm, but a gloved hand caught his wrist.

“ _Cuyolir_?” Boba said, voice gentle. Karking hell, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t shift between sharp apathy and softness that turned Din’s gut.

“Boba—”

“ _Gedet'ye_ , _D’ika_?”

Din sighed, sat, shifting closer to Boba. The man turned the chip over and over and over in his hands.

“Think you can really do it?”

Boba snorted. “Ye of little faith. I’ve done easier at eleven. You should see the explosives I rigged as a kid.”

Din let out a breathy laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Come on, I’m got better supplies in my room.”

Din shivered. Boba’s room. Kark it, he wasn’t a love-struck teenage boy. ‘ _Calm down, Din!’_

Boba offered a hand. “Come on.”

Din took a deep breath, reached out, and took it.


	8. Mos Hajji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all so so so much for all y'all support?? i swear some of yalls comments made me tear up. this chapter is short but im building to a longer one next chap so hopefully you dont mind too much! (also introducing my favorite oc i have ever made)
> 
> din has a flashback to his near-death experience in season one near the end of the chapter during a panic attack, so heads up for that
> 
> mando'a, as usual:  
> mirc'ad ganan - slave owner  
> dush hut'uun - horrible/awful coward, one of the worst insults a mando can give  
> verd - warrior/fighter, honorable person  
> jehaatir - lie  
> jetii - jedi  
> mesh'la - pretty  
> ban'dush - trouble  
> ad'ika - a beloved child  
> jat'ad - good boy, basically  
> dush ad - bad boy, more or less
> 
> slave language:  
> qiasd - something similar to please. the language is based primarily on hand signs, nothing oral, so few words have a direct translation   
> Skywalker - a traditional slave surname  
> Dnie eenama nuk - move safely, lit. move with the sands  
> Qqdas - friend

To say Boba’s room was a mess would be an understatement, which seemed strange given how immaculate Slave I was. The bed, smaller than even Luke’s had been, was unmade with most of the blankets on the floor, the mattress buried under piles of scrap. The floor needed to be swept desperately, sands coating the stone, and the wide windows had been hastily covered with make-shift curtains stapled over the glass. Now that he thought about it, Boba kept it dark on the ship too, and always had his eyes covered outside. Maybe the sarlacc acid had harmed his eyes?

“Watch your step,” Boba grunted, and Din could have laughed. Grogu wiggled free and crawled up onto the bed, burying into the sand covered sheets.

“Careful—there are sharp things on there.” Boba barked, and Grogu blinked up at him with those big eyes.

“Stars, Boba, where do you _sleep?_ ” Din said, taking in the clutter, and Boba snorted.

“I don’t.” He stood in front of a worn desk covered in metal bits and bobs, tapping his gloved fingers on the back of the chair.

“You called me Boba.” He said, and Din didn’t think he’d ever heard the bounty hunter speak so softly.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.”

Din’s brow furrowed under his helmet. He must have, right?

“Is it a problem?”

“No.” Boba coughed out. “No, it’s not.”

“You really don’t sleep in here?”

“If you knew the number of stims I’m running on…”

“That’s not exactly healthy.”

Boba looked over his shoulder, raising a nonexistent eyebrow. “Do you want to fix the karkin’ thing or not?” Din frowned, moving to the desk and leaning against the wall. Boba shoved junk from off the chair and made room on the table. He dropped the chip. It bounced once, twice, before coming to a stop between the two of them.

“Karking _mirc'ad ganan.”_ Boba spat as he sat, bringing forth a datapad and a tool box. “ _Dush hut'uun_ , all of them.”

Din swallowed. If he was going to do it he might as well do it now. “What was it like serving the Empire? Plenty of _mirc’ad ganan_ and _hut’uun_ there, I’d imagine.”

“It was a job. They paid well.”

“With money made off the backs of the Outer Rim. Did you have your slugger on you when you met Jabba the first time?”

Boba’s head whipped up, eyes narrow. “What, exactly, are you implying?”

“I don’t think you’re a _verd_ to _jehaatir_ , Boba. I just want to understand.”

“You spend to much time rubbing elbows with _Jetii.”_

“Luke—”

“Is necessary for the kid. I get that.” Boba turned to face him fully. “You don’t know enough of your own history, Din. You don’t look at the _Jetii_ and see what they’ve done.”

“Luke has been nothing but good to me.”

“Skywalker is spineless.”

 _‘At least he never compromised his morals,’_ Din longed to say, but knew it would be pointless, perhaps even cruel. Instead, he watched Boba line up each tool in a perfect line.

“What was it like to work for Empire?”

“Awful. I returned to the ship each night with a bitter taste on my tongue. Jabba was worse. I was a different man all those years ago. Angry, vengeful. I like to think I’ve… mellowed. Aged. Like fine wine. I remember the exact moment working with Jabba became too much. The Huttslayer—I can picture her perfectly. Not the whoreish outfit Jabba took such joy in parading her around in, but her defiant chin and wild eyes, daring anyone to lay a hand on her. The first night she was held they passed her off to my quarters as a parting gift. I’d never been so disgusted, so insulted in my life. I remember stammering out a reason to be elsewhere and let her take the bed, spending the night in the corner with my back to her… I wish I could have seen Jabba’s eyes bulge under her hand.”

Din felt his stomach turn. His jaw tightened. Disgusting.

“So that was it then?”

Boba sighed. “I’d been so angry for so long. I didn’t know who I was without it. But I spent a lot of time alone in the sands after I crawling my way out of the sarlacc.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Lots of time to think.”

Din tried to picture Boba before the sarlacc pit: a man with smooth skin and eyelashes, eyes hard and jaw set. What had his voice been like before acid tainted his vocal cords? Had he been handsome? He must have; even with his scars Boba had beautiful bone structure: a high rounded forehead and powerful jaw, a nose that would have been strong and broad before it had been broken so often. It wasn’t to say that Boba in his modern form was ugly—simply that any conventional ideas of beautiful had been eaten away by acid, leaving only intense, soul grabbing eyes behind.

“What would it take for you to realize that the way you’ve lived your life for twenty years was pointless?” Boba said. His voice was quiet but not soft. With a pair of tweezers, he popped off a grey, melted cap covering half the chip. Black, glossy electrical flimsy spiraled out as he pulled up. Din swallowed.

 _What would it take,_ he heard echoing in his ears, _for you abandon the Guild? For you to remove your helmet in front of a room of Imperials?_ As if to answer, Grogu giggled behind them. He slid off the bed and waddled over to them, hoping to see over the lip of the desk. Boba sighed.

“ _Do not touch anything.”_ He said, pointing his tweezers at the Child, who cocked his head and giggled again. Boba hoisted him into his lap and rested his chin on Grogu’s head as he switched tools. Slowly he unfolded the black flimsy and exposed the tiniest green control board Din had ever seen. He watched in awe as Boba worked. Din considered himself relatively good with electronics- certainly enough to keep his armor working and fix Luke’s hand—but Boba poked and prodded the control board with practiced grace, moving bits and pieces of tech Din could barely even _see._ Boba leaned further down and lit up the tiniest soldering tool Din had ever seen. Grogu gasped at the flash of orange light as it heated up and reached up. Boba tapped him on the wrist.

“What did I say?”

“ _Mesh'la_ …” Grogu whined, and Boba sighed.

“You can hold my wrist. But if you try to touch it, you’ll be in trouble, alright? _Ban'dush_. Trouble.”

“ _Ban'dush_.” Grogu slurred with a nod and placed his little green hand on Boba’s wrist. The soldering tool flashed with a spark as Boba moved the hot metal across the green plastic. Softly, quietly, Boba begin describing each part and each move to the Child. This was the man who Luke said tried to kill his family. Who went across his own sense of morality for some credits. Who nearly dissolved to death for his efforts. A man who was cradling his _ad’ika_ in his arms, showing him the tools of his trade.

“…So now, we fold the flimsy back in place. Feel how slick it is? It’s coated in a conductive jelly, so it conducts energy, allows the positive and negative charges run through and power it. So, we fold it, then snap the cover back in place and…voilà!” The chip began to beep, flashing a deep purple. “We have our tracker.” 

Grogu cooed and reached for the chip, promptly putting it in his mouth.

“No, no, no, not for mouths!” Boba forced his fingers into Grogu’s mouth, and the Child bit down _hard._

“Karking hell, Djarin, your little bastard _ad’ika_ _bit_ me!”

“Maybe don’t stick your hand in his mouth next time,” Din said smugly and plucked up Grogu. “Spit it out.” Grogu slowly opened his mouth and let the chip ‘plop’ out into his gloved hand.

“ _Jat'ad,_ ” He said, placing the chip back on the desk and holding him closer. Boba spluttered.

“ _Jat'ad_? _Jat'ad_!? He just bit me, don’t ‘ _jat'ad’_ him!!” Din snorted.

“Bobo’s just jealous because he’s a _dush ad_.”

“So help me, Djarin, I will smother you in your sleep.”

“Din.” Din said suddenly. “If we’re on a first name basis then you use mine. Din.” Boba’s nonexistent brows rose.

“Oh. Alright—Din.”

Din shivered. His name rolled off Boba’s tongue slow and smokey, like a thick syrup or a fog rolling in. Some might say the damage done to Boba’s vocal cords made his voice uncomfortably gruff and hard to understand, but in that moment, it was crystal clear. Din wanted to hear Boba say his name again.

“Skywalker will be wanting that,” Boba said, and Din held up the vaguely drool covered chip. Din nodded, watching the purple glow.

“Lets go catch ourselves a slaver.”

\---

Somehow, _somehow,_ despite the massive infrastructure that Boba had just acquired, the Hutt palace only had two speeders. Sure, they were nice, better put together, and cared for than any speeder Din had ever been on, but still only two. Boba and Luke had agreed to take the steering for each since they knew Tatooine better than Din or Fennec ever could.

“Why is she coming?” Luke said, whininess creeping into his voice, a reminder that even after all he’d gone through, Luke never really grew up. There was a youthfulness to him, a softness never quite squashed, delicate and charming, and it shone through every now and then through his professional _Jetii_ façade, like wires slipping through the sinth skin of his prosthetic.

“Because _she_ is a better shot than you, Jedi.” Fennec drawled. She slid behind Boba, rifle slung over her shoulder.

“Hey! I can shoot fine, I spent 19 years on this dust ball shooting—”

“Can it, Skywalker,” Boba said, igniting the speeder’s engine. His voice was tinny through his helmet’s voice modulator. “It’s too early to listen to you whine.”

“I’m not—”

Din rested a hand on Luke’s shoulder and jerked his head to the free speeder. ‘ _Not worth it,’_ the movement said, ‘ _let it go.’_

Luke huffed and swung his leg over the neck of the speeder. “Just keep up with me, Fett.”

Boba snorted. “Won’t be a problem.”

Din slid onto the speeder behind Luke. The _Jetii_ was close, intoxicatingly so. He could smell the soap Luke used in his hair—like leaves (pine?) and fresh rain, surprisingly delicate. But then, Luke was nothing but surprising in his delicacy. Before he could talk himself out of it, Din slid his arms around Luke waist and pulled them closer together. ‘ _It’s safer on the speeder that way,’_ Din told himself, and he heard Luke let out the smallest of gasps. Din slunk back but a black gloved hand caught his wrist. Din stilled, then, slowly, leaned forward. The hand did not move. It was warm and strong as Luke revved the speeder. The purple pulse of the chip flashed from between the handlebars.

“Stay close!” He called to Boba and Fennec, shifted gears, and took off.

Din had never met a driver like Luke Skywalker. The man slid over the sand without disturbing a single grain, zipping over dunes so fast that the world around Din was just a blur of yellow sand and blue sky, like a watercolor thrown at his face and splattered across his helmet. The wind whipped Luke’s hair into a frenzy, and as Luke jerked to the left Din had to squeeze him tighter to avoid sliding off. Luke laughed.

“Having fun?”

“If I talk, I might vomit.”

“Wait, lemme show you something fun!”

Luke reeved the engine and shot forward towards a dune. He bolted closer to it, faster, faster, faster, before jerking the control bar up and sending them careening over the crest of the dune and into the air. Luke stuck his foot hard into the sand as they came up, sending them jerking to the side. The horizon took up all of Din’s sight, just cloudless blue upon blue, and Din couldn’t hold back a gasp. Luke laughed, and it settled in Din’s chest like soft sunlight. They touched down with a shudder and Luke swerved back on track.

“You should see what I can do in an X-wing.” Luke said with a smirk. Din squeezed him.

“Show off.”

Mos Hajji sprung out of almost nowhere behind the dunes. It was large, sprawling, smelling of motor oil and Tatooinian spices, and Din didn’t have to be a _Jetii_ to feel the oppressive air hanging overhead. It wasn’t just the heat; it was something bitter and greasy that hung in the sky like a fog. Luke came to a stop, and a minute after, Boba shot past in a cloud of dust.

“I thought you said you’d keep up?” Luke said as he shook out his hair. Boba hopped off his speeder, boots crunching in the gravel.

“You drive like a toddler.” He said, brushing dust off his shoulder, and Luke pursed his lips.

“Boys, boy, you’re both pretty. Let’s go before the suns get any higher.” Fennec said. Thin wisps of black hair had come free from her braid. She marched past them, taking the tracker from Luke’s offered hand.

“We should ask around some,” Luke said as he fell into line behind her. “If there is a slavering in town then there’s bound to be people who know. The Trail has a base here—if anyone knows anything about anything, it’ll be them.

“Good call,” Fennec said, and Boba nodded slowly.

“Since you’re the only one here who could actually get a Trail leader to talk to us, you better get us started,” Boba said. He looked down at Luke—an easy feat, given how short the _Jetii_ was—and Luke lifted his chin to meet his eyes. Or, at least where Luke assumed Boba’s eyes were; the visor made it hard to tell.

“Of course.” He said. Luke lowered his voice. “But you have to be careful. It doesn’t matter if you’re free or not, slaves tend to get skittish around bounty hunters. Too many of them have a hit on their head, be it for leaving or for ‘theft’.” Luke’s lips curled at the word. _Theft._

“I’d ask you both to change and leave any recognizable armor behind but—” He held out a hand when Boba began to interrupt “—I understand that is not possible. So, let me go first and do the talking.”

“What makes you think they’ll listen to you?” Fennec said. There was nothing accusatory in her tone, just the same mellow syrup that seemed to coat all her words.

“I’m a Skywalker,” Luke said, in time with Boba and Din’s “He’s a Skywalker.”

Luke looked to Boba. “What do you know about that?” He said warily, and Boba shifted his weight to his left foot.

“I’m head of a crime syndicate, Skywalker, and provide asylum for slaves. I’ve learned a little.”

Luke nodded, swallowed. “I was never—I just mean, I was born free. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It didn’t matter much to me if you were or not,” Boba said, and to Din’s surprise, he thumped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We are more than where we came from.”

Luke ran a hand through his hair. “Then we best get moving. The three of you keep your eyes out, but stay behind me and let me do any talking. Deal?”

Fennec gave a sharp nod, echoed by Boba and Din. Luke gave them the softest of smiles.

“I thought I was done with all this.” He said with a bitter chuckle and started into town.

Din was good at blending in. In a clan where secrecy was survival and you carried precious cargo on your hip, you had to learn how to both intimidate and disappear. Boba, it seemed, had not learned that skill. As soon as they entered the market place a ripple of stressed silence bounced from stall to stall to stall, people moving out of their way. Luke sighed through his teeth.

“ _Kriffing bounty hunters_.” He breathed out, bringing the back of his hand to his brow.

He spun on his heels. “You all—wait here. I’ll be back.”

“Luke—” Din started, but Boba rested a hand on his shoulder. Boba jerked his head and Luke was off, moving a few stalls down to one woman selling scarves. With the helmet Din could pick out some, but not all of what they were saying.

The stall owner was a tall, willowy being with dark red skin, crusted with sand and covered as best as possible in muddy linens.

“These are lovely—the blue one, it’s so hard to get dyes that color all the way out here. Do you make them, or import them?’

“Are _they_ with you?” The being said, and Luke smiled.

“Yes, unfortunately. Hunters make _awful_ travel companions, but I’ve found myself in need of a little protection.”

The being seemed unimpressed, though Din could see the sliver of panic in their hands.

“Listen, we don’t need any trouble here—”

“Trouble is the last thing I’m interested in, _qiasd_.” Luke said. The being’s purple eyebrows rose. Luke stuck out a hand. “Skywalker.”

He raised a loose fist from his lips to the crown of his head, ‘walking’ the fingers forward.

The being glanced to the closest stall and beckoned Luke closer. Slowly, they began moving their hands in small, hidden motions, and Luke replied with his own. Fennec raised an eyebrow.

“Guys!” Luke hissed, waving them over. “I’ve got us an in.”

“What’d you say?”

“That I’ve been working with a section of the Trail near Mos Eisley to track new buyers. You’re my muscle.”

“Of course we are,” Boba grunted and Luke flashed a smile.

“Sorry, you chose the profession.”

The being subtly waved them over and Luke raised a hand.

“ _Dnie eenama nuk_.” They said. Luke nodded.

“ _Dnie eenama nuk.”_ He repeated, and then they were being shuffled behind the stall into a building, down dozens of stairs into a basement with walls of dried mud, dark and cool.

Seven faces blinked up at them from the dark, and there was the tell-tail sound of a blaster heating up. The woman brandishing it in front of them in the gloom was pox marked and tanned, eyes glinting in the low light, and just as she opened her mouth to speak sand rained down from the ceiling as the world outside went _boom!_

Din shoved Luke behind him as he hoisted himself up the stairs two at a time. The explosion was more fire than shrapnel.

Din held his blaster tight—city police poured in from ally ways only to be blasted back, and just as soon as the explosion’s flash died another grenade was thrown.

“Get down!” Boba yelled to him as the bone-dry wood of the stalls outside took flame. When Din failed to reply the bounty hunter tackled him, yanking him away just in time to miss a spray of blaster bolts.

‘ _We have to get all those people out of there’_ Din thought, but he couldn’t seem to make his thoughts reach his mouth. Grogu—where was Grogu? Where—the heat of the fire was choking him, which was funny wasn’t it? It was still so far away, too far away to touch, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as if his lungs were the black vacuum of space.

“—jarin?”

He could hear Gideon’s voice—‘ _You have something I want’­_ —but where was he? Din couldn’t see him, but he could hear him rattling around in his tin can—‘ _You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of’—_ The fire is oppressive and all-consuming, it was going to eat them alive. Him and Cara and Greef were going to fry in here, roasted alive—

“—jarin!”

The force of the explosion is worse than anything Din’s ever felt, ever known, pounding and screaming in his head as his eyes slant and he can taste blood in his mouth, feel blood smeared in his eyes, dripping out of his ears, down his neck, and somehow, somehow—‘ _It means more to me than you will ever know’—_

 _“_ DIN _!”_

Din choked as Boba shook him.

“Listen, whatever the fuck you’ve got going on, you need to snap out of it, _now!”_

Din blinked up at him. He had been wrong this morning. Boba _was_ beautiful.

“I’m okay.” He wheezed, pulling himself up, “I’m fine, I’m okay.”

Almost as soon as Din was on his knees three, succinct shots whizzed over his head into Boba’s chest where he knelt in front of Din. They rang as they smacked in impure Baskar and Boba jerked back, landing on the sand with a thud. Din scrambled over him and turned to the attacker, blaster drawn—dark red curls, tan skin, dark eyes.

“Put your blaster down and _leave._ ” They snarled. “Tracking scum.”

Din launched himself forward and slammed into them. They grunted and rolled out from underneath him, scrambling for his blaster, and instead of fighting them for it Din caught them hard at their unprotected stomach. Wheezing, they moved back.

“Kal! I need back up!” They called. Violent shuffling continued through the smoke, city guards exchanging blasts with the disturbers of the peace. They raised the blaster again, ready to fire when—

“Rev! Stand down!” Din’s head jerked around and in an instant, another blaster was drawn, pointed at the newcomer. Deep red skin, purple hair; she must be related to the stall worker. The attacker’s nostrils flared and their eyes flicked to her. Their blaster hand shook.

“Friends, Rev.” The woman said, “They’re here as friends. With the Trail. Skywalker.”

The attacker—Rev—swallowed.

“ _Qidas_?”

“ _Qidas_.”

Rev nodded and lowered their blaster-- just in time for a woozy Boba to lurch to his knees and shoot them right in the hip.


	9. Darksaber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i promised a longer chapter but this one is rather action pact so i hope that makes up for a medium-sized one? i wrote it all in one sitting so hopefully, it isn't too bad. y'all get to meet rev, an oc i've had since rouge one came out! i hope you like them :D 
> 
> mandoa, as usual:  
> burc'ya - friend  
> Ni Gaa'tayl burc'ya. Nayc aaray - very bad grammar, but basically: I help friend. No pain  
> Cuyir gar morut'yc? - Are you safe/alright?  
> Vaabir gar mirdir Ni cuy' pel? - Do you think I'm soft?  
> Draar - Never  
> jar'sheba - dumbass, someone who's stupid enough to get in fights he's bound to lose or get his "ass kicked"  
> Jetii - jedi
> 
> this is where the plot really starts picking up. soon we're going to get to see luke and boba's pov (and more luke and boba bonding), so that's something to look forward to! comments make my entire world and really encourage me to keep frequent updates.

It didn’t take long for the fires to be put out, leaving behind buildings scorched with blaster burns and streets filled with dead police.

“They had it coming,” Kal said as she leaned back in her chair. A drinking hall had been taken apart and rebuilt as a sanctuary. At least 25, likely more, slaves sat on the packed dirt floor; cots were laid out with two measly medics moving between them, cutting away flesh in search of tracking chips, and armed guards stood at windows and doors. If this was the Trail, it certainly wasn’t what Din had been expecting.

The dead police had been stripped of blasters and anything of use, passed out to the slaves through the room.

“They knew what was happening in this city and they went along with it. Following orders my ass.”

“Life is life,” the dark red skinned being from outside, Tara, said as she rubbed the soot from Kal’s face with a damp cloth. Kal rolled her eyes. She was a twi'lek—young, going off the look of her lekku—with strips of linen wrapped around her deep green lekku, likely to protect the sensitive skin from the sun and sand. A square knot of scar tissue stood out on her bicep and a hefty blaster hung at her hip.

Din and Fennec had been sat down in the center of the room under the watchful, uneasy eyes of whatever group of freedom fighters they had found themselves in. They sure as hell weren’t what Luke had described when he mentioned the Trail. Boba had been magicked off _somewhere,_ but frankly, Din wasn’t too worried. The bounty hunter could take care of himself. A few meters away Luke stood, hands moving anxiously as he signed to one of the freedom fighters. Din knew the look even if he didn’t know the words. Negotiations. Well, technically they _had_ shot one of their people, even if they shot Boba first.

Luke let out an exasperated groan. “Friendly fire!” He said, giving up on hand signs, “It was kriffing friendly fire—”

“Rev, I swear by the Force if you do not _sit down_ I’ll take a blaster to your knee caps instead.”

The voice echoed through the hall, coming from two cots down. A dark skinned Kiffar man—how did a Kiffar find himself enslaved halfway across the damn galaxy?-- fussed over a human laying in—and attempting to leave—a cot. It was the shooter from earlier. They had removed their hood exposing a halo of dark red curls and deep tan skin, with deep sleepless circles under their dark eyes. They wore a poncho made of sandy linen and bantha leather boots; the neckline was awkwardly cut and low, proudly exposing a square knot of scar tissue on their neck.

“I’m _fine_ —”

“There is a blaster bolt in your hip, _you are not fine_!” There was a brief struggle and then the shooter—Rev—slipped out of the man’s hands.

“Where’s my stuff?”

“Rev—”

“I won’t ask twice, Unes.”

Rev looked up at some perceived noise and jerked their head to the side, chin cocked. Their eyes widened as they spotted Din and Fennec.

“ _You_! You karkin’ shot me!”

“Actually,” Fennec drawled, “The other one shot you.”

Rev stood, stumbled, and hissed, taking the weight off their right side.

“Maybe,” Fennec continued, “You shouldn’t have shot him first.”

“Fennec, now is not the time—” Din hissed, and Rev raised their chin, looking down at them. Damn, they were scrawny.

“Maybe Skywalker shouldn’t have brought bounty hunters with him then,” they said, “he should have known trappers and trackers wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Kark it,” Unes said with a sigh, “if you’re going to lecture them, they can be your responsibility. I’m tired of watching them; I’ve got a job to do.”

“Pass me my stuff.”

Unes tossed a duffle bag at the red head and they snatched it out of the air. They looked back to Din and Fennec, eyes narrowed.

“Get up. I have rounds.” Without looking back they slung the bag over their shoulder and started walking, doing their best to hide their limp. Din looked to Fennec, who raised an eyebrow.

“Play along?” He asked.

“Might as well.”

“Come on!” Rev shouted. Rev stomped through the cots until they came up to one woman curled up on the floor. In an instant, Rev’s face shifted to something calm and sweet.

“Hello, ma’am.” They said, kneeling beside her. “Do you speak Basic?”

She cast a wary look over Rev’s shoulder at Din and Fennec.

“Friends,” Rev said encouragingly, “Protectors.” Rev jerked their head at them. “Sit.”

Rev dug in their bag and pulled out a clunky scanner of some kind. Obviously homemade. The woman eyed it with clear concern.

“They have the face of foes.” She whispers in heavily, heavily accented Basic. Rev gave a gentle, disarming smile.

“Of course not. Here—give us your name, friends. Let us all sit on the same playing field.”

The smile Fennec gave her was so sweet, so un-Fennec, that it was unsettling.

“Ezoter Jewel, ma’am. And my brother—forgive his helmet. He’s frightfully ugly and quite shy about it.” She flashed a toothy grin and the woman laughed softly.

“A pleasure,” she said, “if you all can really do as you claim.”

“Of course we can,” Rev said softly. She took the woman’s hand.

“Will it hurt?” She asked.

“The scanner will tickle a bit, and I can do the surgery right here. A little local anesthesia and you won’t feel a thing. It will scar though.”

“Bad?”

Rev pulled their neckline down further, exposing the square of scar tissue. “Yes. But I look at it as a sign of pride.”

The woman began to worry her fingers together.

“How—how long have you been--?”

“Free? Since I was fifteen. I promise it isn’t as scary as it seems. You have a life outside of this. You have a chance to find it.”

“I… I have family. Sold off. I want to find them.”

Rev patted her hand. “That’s why we’re here.” They held up the scanner. “Do you remember where it is?” The woman’s brow crumpled.

“No, it’s been so long. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. Lay down please.”

The woman laid back on the cot and tilted her head to them, obviously nervous, and let out a gasp.

“Oh my stars! Look at him! Is he yours?”

Din frowned. He’d be embarrassed to admit it, but he’d almost forgotten Grogu was slung on his hip during all this.

“Uh, yes.” He said, and Grogu began to squirm.

“Burc'ya?” Grogu asked, and the woman’s smile grew.

“He’s so sweet. My boy has long since grown up. May I touch him?”

Din hesitated, but Grogu was already moving, reaching out his little green hands. The woman took his fingers in hand.

“Hello, little one.” She said softly. Rev took advantage of the distraction to run the scanner across the woman’s body until it began to vibrate on her free wrist.

“Got it.” Rev said and moved back to their bag. The surgery was quick and efficient; the wrist was wiped down with povidone iodine, skin blocked off, anesthetic hypo injected into the fat further up the forearm, and scalpel sliced down with a steady, experienced hand. Blood bubbled forth, then muscle, then the smooth movements of medical tweezers; a cauterizing tool laid down red hot lines onto the split flesh. They placed down a field grade bacta patch, and finally a bandage was smoothed on top. All and all the surgery took 15 elegant, practiced minutes, and the woman gasped as she stared at the slave tracking chip in Rev’s hand. Rev took the removed slave chip, threw it on the ground, and crushed it under their boot.

“There.” They said softly. “From today onward you are a free woman.”

The woman stared at her wrist in muted awe. She ran her fingertips over the bandages as if the strips of cloth didn’t seem real. Grogu took his hand from her fingers and moved to her bleeding wrist.

“No—” Din said, grabbing Grogu, but something—damn Force magic most likely—held Gorgu in place. He closed his too big eyes as his ears twitched. The blood seeped out of the bandage, leaving it clean again, and the woman’s eyes widened.

“You…” She pulled her hand back and unrolled the bandage and peeled back the bacta. The skin was clear without even a scar. “How…?”

“Ni Gaa'tayl burc'ya. Nayc aaray.” Grogu babbled, and Din’s heart swelled at his pronunciation. Grogu’s words were becoming stronger, crisper, and Din couldn’t believe his language was coming out of that little green mouth. Their language. A clan of two.

“If you follow the wall there, you’ll find a table with some friends who will find a place for you to stay while we sort everything out.” Rev said. The woman nodded mutely and slowly rose to her feet, waving Grogu a hesitant goodbye. Rev repacked their med pack as they watched her leave, and then turned their dark eyes back to Din and Fennec.

“ _Why_ exactly, Mandalorian, Fennec Shand, did you and Boba kriffin’ Fett decide you needed to be in Mos Hajji today during a raid? Because Skywalker or not, you have _no_ business being here.”

“We’re looking for someone—” Frennec started, and Rev’s eyes hardened.

“I’d sooner throw myself on your blaster than let you take any of these people.”

“We’re looking for a slaver from here.” Din said, interrupting Fennec when she went to speak again. “A woman died while looking for sanctuary from Fett. We came to find who owned and killed her.”

“Detonated,” Fennec said fatter of factly. “Boom.”

Rev’s mouth drooped at the corners. “From here? My best guess would be Madam Gurrie. She moved in a few months back, has been funneling people on and off planet. Kids going missing from homes, strangers from off planet getting dragged down to the surface. Fancy intergalactic sales. I’ve heard horror stories of what’s going on at her estate but anybody who manages to escape don’t stay alive for long. The last person we sent down there for reconnaissance ended up strung across buildings in pieces. We were—he was a good man.”

They were silent for a moment, shoulders stiff, and almost jumped when their comm beeped.

“What’s up?”

 _“We’re grouping up next door, away from the freeds.”_ Someone said across the line. _“We’ve got trouble.”_

Rev sworn. “Fine, I’ll be right there—uh, you two, with me.” They stood, popped their neck, and set off through the crowd, carefully stepping over and around cots. The people they passed, slave and free, all looked at Din and Fennec with an obvious wariness, reminding Din just how many hunters took hits on slaves. It was quick, easy work and while the pay varied from client to client it always was enough to get you something nice and shiny to compliment a job well done. Din knew a rodian who made his living only on slave jobs and lived lavishly for a bounty hunter, dressed in fine, glittering blaster resistant tunics and dealing the copious amount of spice he was paid in out the back of his ship. Din tried to turn a blind eye to it all—how someone made their living was no business of his. But listening to Luke tell of being searched for a chip as a child, alone and frightened, just because of his surname… it stirred something in his, a disgust that he hadn’t previously found.

The space next door was the kitchen at the rear of the drinking hall. The counter was packed with medical supplies and food packs, most of which were obviously stolen. Din figured an operation like this didn’t exactly have the money to buy proper supplies. Unes, Tara, and Kal stood around what little part of the counter was clear of supplies—instead filled with a miss mash of vibroblades and blasters. Between them, leaning with his elbows on the counter was Luke. He perked up at the sight of Din.

“Skywalker here has been filling us in on your little ‘quest’,” Kal said. “Unes thinks it might be Madam Gurrie.”

Rev nodded. “Same here.”

“I told him I’d be willing to provide supplies to his hunting party once we evacuated.”

“We apricate it,” Luke told her with a diplomatic smile. Din recognized that smile: that was a Leia smile.

“We have company?” Rev asked.

“Cesear spotted New Republic speeders.”

“That’s good!” Luke said, “My sister works with the NR, I can help—”

Tara patted him on the shoulder, much like one might a child.

“They’re not New Republic. We fell for it the first time; they opened fire as soon as the speeders were in range down. I refuse to fall for it again.”

Luke frowned. “Who's they’?”

Unes shrugged. “Depends. Local warlords, collectors, locals governments pissed at losing unwilling workers.”

“How many of our guests have been de-chipped?” Tara asked.

“My best guess? 13 or so. Definitely not all,” Unes replied. Tara swallowed tightly.

“What is the chance we blow sky high on the way out of here?”

“More than I’d like.”

“We… we could split up.” Kal murmured. “Take the chipless to safety, have one medic stay behind to tend to the rest.”

“I refuse to leave that many to die.” Rev spat. “I will not gamble with lives—”

“Taking all of them is a gamble! Would you rather blow up someone before they get their chance to even enjoy their freedom?”

“Is there enough time to get them out of atmosphere and out of range?” Luke asked. Unes shook his head with pursed lips.

“We don’t have that many ships.”

“What if you have people stay behind to protect the others until they were able to have their chips removed?” Luke suggested.

“We don’t have enough trained shooters to protect both groups.”

“Yes, you do,” Din said. The Trail members all looked to him. “You have three highly trained bounty hunters and a Jedi. We’ll cover you.”

The four freedom fighters glanced at each other. “It could work,” Kal said with a shrug. Unes shook his head.

“Four is not enough.”

“We’ll make it enough,” Luke said firmly.

“I’m staying,” Rev said. “I'll take the chips out. You’ll want a medic who can shoot, and I’m the best shot you have out of the medics.”

“How long do you think we have before they’re on us?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe less.”

Luke drew to his full height. “Then you better hand over our friend. We’re making sure you all get out of here.”

\---

Boba does not look worse for wear. Rather pissed, yes, but not enough to not bump his shoulder against Din’s in a sign of comradery and give Fennec the nod of respect that they always seemed to exchange.

“ _Cuyir gar morut'yc_?” Din asked. It felt right to keep the words between the two of them. Boba slapped a hand on Din’s shoulder.

“ _Vaabir gar mirdir Ni cuy' pel_?” Boba said, and Din could hear his grin.

“ _Draar._ ” Din said, placing his hand over Boba’s. Din didn’t blush. He didn’t. Fennec cleared her throat and Boba stepped back.

“So.” He said, “I’ve heard we’re serving guard duty.”

Luke nodded. “Worst case—“

“There won’t be a worst case,” Din said. The lightness at his hip was strange. He’d swaddled Grogu up and presented her to the freed slave woman he’d met with tense hands.

“Keep an eye on him until I get back. And if I don’t—”

The woman had placed her scarred hand on his. “You will. You will.”

He would. He just had to take out how ever many _jar'sheba_ were going to funnel into this square. Fennec popped her neck.

“I’ll take the right most entry archway, pick off them off as they come. You three—” Her words were covered suddenly by the sound of revving speeders; the sound came over the crest of the dunes outside town, the New Republic signets glittering on the speeders in the sun.

“We’ve got this.” Luke said firmly and Fennec pursed her lips. She looked behind the _Jetii_ to Boba.

“Don’t die,” She grunted, and Din could hear the grin in Boba’s voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then she was gone, hoisting herself up and on top of a building faster than Din could blink, swinging between roofs until she found a suitable place to settle, rifle in hand. Almost as soon as she sunk into position a speeder came roaring into the square. In one second the driver has a blaster pointed at Luke, and the next he is on the ground in the sand, a blaster bolt in straight through the temple.

There was no time to breathe between the first speeder and the dozen or so that came after. Din unholstered a blaster and steadied it in his hand; he’d fought more before—his last stand with the Guild all those months ago came to mind.

A man rolled off his speeder before it even came to a stop, E-11 drawn, and let out a series of shots. His aim was shit—Din ducked, ready to return fire but the third blaster bolt didn’t come near him. Instead, it slammed into a line of green plasma with a piercing ‘ _ping_!’ and ricocheted back. Luke stood before him in an easy, practiced stance, lightsaber raised across the both of them.

“You’re a shit shot!” Luke called, and with it the squared opened up.

Luke moved like a seasoned dancer. He moved with such grace that he didn’t even seem to be fighting, and it took every bit of willpower Din had not to stare. A woman angled her A280 upwards towards the back of Fennec’s head only to be sent flying backward into a wall, charred crates tumbling on top of her.

But now was not the time to be distracted with the elegance of Skywalker’s fighting stance. The fighters were unorganized, unpracticed, but they made up for it in pure ferocity. Three of them broke off from the group, charging Din. An up swipe to the jaw sent one stumbling back, only to leap forward, forcing Din to the ground. He landed a kick on Din’s throat and Din gasped. One of the others was on top of him in an instant, vibroblade in hand, going straight for the exposed crease under his chest plate.

“ _You have the fucking Darksaber_!” Boba called from across the battlefield.

Oh. Right.

Din forced his hand out from under one of their feet and grabbed the blade. With a slide of his thumb, it lit up black, straight through the man holding the vibroblade. He choked, looking down with dumb, bulging cow eyes and collapsed. Din lept back to his feet. Another tried to throw a punch only to find himself with a face full of fire from Din's wrist, quickly followed by the flash of a black blade as his head toppled from his shoulders.

The third man backed away slowly only to drop with a snap of blaster fire. Din looked up—Fennec shot him a sly smile and a sloppy salute.

Din was much more experienced with a blaster or a spear—hell, even a staff—than a sword, but the Darksaber seemed to sing in his hand, guiding his moves just as much as he moved it. It was a partnership he had never felt with a weapon before and as he cut down another man, another, another, the power that surged through him settling into his very bones.

“Fett!”

Din’s head jerked at Luke’s cry— Boba was almost prone, and his helmet had been knocked clear off in a grappling match with a woman in the sand. A man had crawled his way onto a roof without Fennec realized, pointing his rifle down at the back of Boba’s exposed head. Luke threw himself in front of the bounty hunter, beating back a series of shots with his lightsaber. Boba raised a pistol, but Luke had already raised a hand and dragged the man off the room onto the sandy ground, slashing through his chest with an underhand jerk of the arm. He knelt down and picked up Boba’s helmet, passing it gingerly to him.

“You dropped something.”

Boba blinked up at him and took his helmet. He studied Luke’s face, and for a moment it looked like he might say something, but a blaster shot at his feet forced both of them back.

“We sort of have a fight happening!” Fennec yelled, re-adjusting her rifle.

Though, that wasn’t quite true anymore. Din caught another woman in the side with the Darksaber, slicing from hip to shoulder, and Boba let out some kind of explosion in the corner of Din’s eye. There weren’t many left to fight.

The remaining handful of fighters seemed to realize that too. One bolting for a speeder and a half-second after the other’s followed. They dropped, one, two, three, four, blaster bolts smoking in their heads. Damn it all if Fennec wasn’t a terrifying shot.

Luke sighed and deactivated his lightsaber and after scanning the battlefield a second time, Din deactivated his saber as well. The weight of it was still comforting in his hand. Luke turned back to him, blond hair ruffled. Before Din could think about what he was doing, he brushed it out of Luke’s eyes.

Luke’s face flushed, but it was likely just adrenaline from the fight. Damn if he didn’t look good like that though—he freckles stood out beautifully against his pink, sweat-slick skin.

Luke cleared his throat.

“You handled your sword well.” He said. “You’re a natural. But if you’d like, I could work on the forms with you. I _am_ a teacher after all.”

“I’d… I’d like that.” Din said softly, and Luke’s smile was sweet as sugar water. “I think that would be… nice.”

Sand or salt from sweat clung to Luke’s eyelashes and Din was struck by the sudden urge to wipe them clean with his thumb. With his bare skin, outside of gloves and armor. It was a terrifying thought and he decided to leave it be.

“Now,” Luke said, laying a warm soft hand on his shoulder, “let’s go get that boy of yours.”


	10. Gurrie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update this quickly?? what!!?? don't get used to it, haha. i just *really* wanted to get to luke and boba's povs and we need some bad things to happen before that >:) 
> 
> some content warnings: a character gets shot, resulting in a spinal injury. there is a discussion of facial mutilation that happened years ago when a character was a slave. someone is very badly electrocuted. fun stuff! 
> 
> about omera speaking mando'a; i *love* the fan theory that omera is a mandalorian who escaped from the purge and moved to live in hiding. i think it would give a lot of depth to her relationship with din 
> 
> some facts on the kiffar since they are mentioned! the kiffar are a humanoid race of dark-skinned people, the most notable one in the sw universe being jedi master quinlan vos. they have facial tattoos that are *extremely* important culturally called qukuuf, and force sensitivity is very common. the most common kind is psychometry, where someone can experience feelings/memories/visions/etc when touching objects when bare hands. if any of yall have played jedi fallen order, cal has psychometry!
> 
> some mando'a:  
> aliit - family  
> jetii - jedi  
> mando - shortened form of the word for mandalorian, mando'ade, and can be used as adj. or noun  
> baskar - a special kind of mandalorian metal  
> Cuyir morut'yc, cyar'ad - be safe, beloved  
> mando'a - madalorian language  
> riduurok - love connection  
> ad(e) - child, children  
> ad'ika - pet name for a child  
> buri - parent  
> cyarir - love  
> mandokar - showing/having the epitome of Mando virtue (a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty, and a lust for life)

Rev led them below the city, down into tunnels of carved out stone that reminded Din so much of his own covert’s—his own _aliit’s_ —tunnels that a part of him ached.

He hadn’t thought of them, really _thought,_ in so long and a sudden pang of guilt sank into his bones. He’d stopped doing his Remembrances at some point, when exactly he wasn’t sure. He needed to begin them again, needed to go down the list of lost loved ones and remember each name, let them live on, marching triumphantly away.

Luke laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” He whispered. Din wasn’t sure if it was because Luke was good at reading people or if it was because his _Jetii_ shit let him connect to stray emotions and thoughts like Gorgu did, but Luke always seemed to know when Din’s heart was heavy or his head was pulsing. Din shrugged off his hand.

“Fine.” He grunted and Luke bit his lip.

“Okay.” He said softly and turned back to Rev and the group of freed slaves leading the way. Behind Din, Boba was a steady presence. Fennec pressed against his armored shoulder, rifle slung over her shoulder, and Din was surprised by the sudden flare of jealousy. He wanted to be there, his pauldron pressing against Boba’s, helmet close enough to touch if he just tilted his head—

Din swallowed and moved faster to meet up with Luke.

Din had never been one for romance. There wasn’t time for it in his life, too busy supplying what he could for the Watch. He had friends, masked _Mandos_ who trained with him and wrestled when their hearts were light; even Paz, for all their differences, would sit with him and polish Din’s _baskar_ while Din polished his, a sign of mutual respect and trust.

There had been the occasional one-night stands-- Xi'an in all her sharp edges and sharper blades clawing at the straps of his _baskar_ , both of them almost entirely clothed as they rutted against each other, leaving Din panting and vaguely disgusted with himself when they finished, Xi’an rebuttoning her pants and leaving him with a cruel kiss on the side of his helmet—

And Omera, all gentleness and callused hands, nothing like Xi’an’s vicious smiles. Din never saw more than her collarbone or delicate wrists—as if there had been anything truly delicate about her as she handled his blaster like she had spent her whole life with a gun on her hip—but her smile had left him feeling weaker and more vulnerable than he thought he had ever felt in his whole life. Weeks after first meeting him she had run her fingers over the base of his helmet and for one selfish, selfish moment Din had wondered what life would be like without it.

He had caught her wrists and pulled her fingers away softly and Omera had sighed, eyes sad and smile understanding. She had leaned forward on tiptoes and pressed her forehead to his.

“ _Cuyir morut'yc, cyar'ad_ ” She had whispered, and Din wondered where this woman could have come from, where she learned to carry a blaster like an old friend, where she learned of a _Mando_ kiss, where her _Mando’a_ became so perfect.”

Din had not loved anyone before Omera, and he wasn’t sure if he had even loved _her_ , but he knew that in that moment with her fingers on his helmet, he felt as if he had never been alone.

Boba was different from Omera. He was dark and heavy where Omera had been soft and light, but _Mando’a_ flowed off his tongue like an old friend and his laugh echoed in Din’s heart for hours after he heard it. Din hadn’t thought he could love someone after Omera, but then Boba’s lopsided grin had weaseled its way into his chest and made it hard for him to swallow.

Should he feel guilty for spreading his affections across people—across the Force, as Luke would say? He knew of families that stretched beyond two lovers and their _ad_. Ser Loc and K’ma and Guto, elders in the covert, had broken bread together, helmets removed as one could only do for their closest _aliit_ , slept in a tangle of limbs with their _ad_ settled in the middle, fought together, loved together. Their _riduurok_ was bright and full. Din wondered for a moment what such love would look in the Force. Luke talked of such things sometimes.

Din could listen to Luke speak for hours. His way with _ade_ was impressive and made Din want to squeeze his own _ad’ika_ tighter, to do better, to be better. Luke, he thought, would make a wonderful _buir_. Sometimes, when he and Grogu would play together, speaking of spirituality that Din would never understand, he imagined Luke as a _buir_ , a proper one. He had to keep a close reign on the daydream, because if he wasn’t careful it would drift to thoughts of _cyarir_ , and he feared Luke might be able to pluck the thoughts out of his head. _Jetii_ could do frightening things like that, and the thought of Luke shifting around through such thoughts made him flush. And now Luke was ahead of him, close enough to brush with his fingers if he extended his arm, all while Boba walked in step behind him.

Din’s stomach tightened and he forced his thoughts to something dry and dull and not something soft and sweet.

\---

The freed slave woman—Quina, Din learned—took excellent care of Grogu. When the two groups reconnected, Rev throwing themselves at Kal and the other heads of this branch of the Trail, she had presented him with Grogu with the soft smile you only saw on smitten parents. His satchel was slung over her shoulder and Grogu was wrapped in her scarf in her arms, fast asleep as she bounced his against her shoulder.

“Time to go see your Dada,” She whispered to him when she spotted Din. Grogu murmured into her shoulder.

“He was a very, very good boy.” She told Din. She passed him over gently and Din cradled his ad’ika close to his chest. He had worried in the beginning that his _baskar_ was too hard, too cold for an infant’s skin, but Grogu never seemed to mind his armor, snuggling into it when Din held him.

“You were?” He whispered into Grogu’s ear. “No eating anything you shouldn’t? You minded your manners and played well?”

Grogu cooed and Din’s heart melted.

“Thank you,” he grunted out and Quina waved a hand.

“Anything for you all. I heard Rev discussing with the others what happened above ground—you are all so brave, sticking your necks out for us. May I?” she asked, holding out open arms. Din blinked.

“Oh, uh—” but Quina was already hugging him, just a soft squeeze before stepping back and brushing a strand of hair behind her ears.

“May the Great Mother bless you and your child,” She said. Suddenly, Rev is at his elbow, hood back up.

“You still planning on seeing Madam Gurrie?” They said, “The others are speaking with Unes, if you are.”

Quina blanched at the name but before she could say something Rev was dragging him through the crowd.

“—where are you all going to go from here?” Din heard Luke say as Rev shoved him towards the front of the crowd with Unes, Kal, and Tara. Fennec leaned against the cool stone walls, dim electronic lights lighting her pale, round face blue.

“Until we can secure living situations for all of them we might as well just stay here,” Unes said with a sigh. “We haven’t exactly been able to keep our location down low.”

“I have the room to provide temporary housing,” Boba said suddenly. “Or permanent, if someone wished.” The Trail members, Luke, even Fennec looked at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Boba grunted. “I said I would end slavery on this planet and I stand by it.”

Unes, who seemed to have been put in the position of leader, chewed on his lip. The Kiffar man was the elder of the group, at least 40, though sun and sand might have aged his face more than his actual birth age. He obviously hadn’t been born into slavery. He bore his clan markings and qukuuf with natural ease, but they had been re-tattooed over scar tissue; the lumpy skin made it obvious. As Din studied his face, he suddenly realized why they had been redone. The dots and lines of yellow and gold ink had been painstakingly reapplied but there was no hiding that much scar tissue… Unes’ past master had cut his old qukuuf off.

Din’s stomach rolled. A man—a _monster_ —had seen Unes’ only ties to his culture and family and carved it out of his skin. How much had Unes’ flesh bled, red mixing with brown skin and flayed gold ink, staining yellow sand scarlet? Din glanced down to Unes’ hands—he wore dirty, grimy gloves a few sizes too big for his hands. Unes met Din’s visor and rubbed his hands together. The look was enough to confirm Din’s question. Unes was psychometric.

Was that why they took him? For a trick he couldn’t help to be born with? If Din remembered correctly from old jobs, something like one in a hundred Kiffar men were psychometric… did that make them popular in the slave trade?

Din was almost scared to ask.

Boba was talking lowly in Hutteese to Kal, likely formulating a plan on how to transfer a group of 25 slaves across the desert to his palace, but Din wasn’t really paying attention. Grogu was an impossibly heavy weight on his chest. Unes was Force sensitive, to a degree, and because of it was put in chains, face mutilated, torn from his culture, _literally,_ and forced under the will of another. That could be Grogu. Someone could target him because of his gifts, force him into Force suppressing cuffs and cut him up and tear him down. The only thing between Grogu and the world around him, this crushing, impossible world, was Din and his blasters—but that would never be enough.

“Mando?” Unes asked softly. “Are you alright?”

His creased brow made his scars ripple. Din was going to be sick. Fuck, he was—

“Let’s sit,” Unes whispered, and he took gentle hold of Din’s arm. Din flinched back as if struck. He didn’t want Unes to feel his panic, his revulsion.

“I have gloves on,” Unes said reassuringly. “You can’t hurt me.”

Slowly, the two of them sunk down on the sand. Grogu let out a confused whine and Din clutched him closer.

“He’s Force sensitive too, isn’t he?” Unes asked. Din nodded mutely. Unes swallowed. Slowly, he pulled off one glove and rested a few fingers on Grogu’s back. He closed his eyes.

“He’s sleepy. He is confused as to why everyone is moving and why they are thinking so loud. He knows people are scared, but he isn’t, because you are here. He knows with you he will never have to be afraid.” Unes swept his thumb across the back of Grogu’s neck.

“And he’s hungry. He ate some lizards a while back. They were crunchy and green, and he wants more.”

Din smiled sadly. “I’ll never understand him like you—all you Force sensitives-- can.”

“Nonsense. Even the Force doesn’t know a child as well as their parent. That bond—it cannot be corrupted.” He slipped his glove back on. “Come. Let’s see where your friend is putting us.”

\---

In the end, Boba gifts the Trail leaders with a message he said his gate master would know for sure came from him and watched as the Trail loaded up what little supplies they had and prepared their few ships for the slow, multistop trek across the sand.

Rev and Kal had provided them with the information they needed surrounding locating Gurrie, Gorgu wrapped up neatly and nestled in Unes’ arms.

“Follow the blatant waste of water and you’ll find her.” Kal had snorted but then gave them proper instructions. It hadn’t taken long to move through the blaster worn sandy streets of the city to find exactly what Kal meant:

A towering townhouse, four, maybe five, stories at least, of shining pink and white limestone, with water features dancing around its courtyard. Waste of water indeed. Luke’s lip curled at the sight of it.

“They say it’s bad luck to cry on Tatooine because it’s a waste of water, but then you see banthashit like this?” He ran a hand through his dusty blond hair. “It’s unacceptable.”

“Good thing we’re taking her out.” Fennec drawled, her voice bored but alert in a way only Fennec was able to achieve. Luke nodded. The building seemed to loom, blocking out the two suns. Boba flexed his wrist, checking the wickedly sharp vibroblade in the vambrace. Din watched as the bounty hunter slid careful fingers over his EE-3, twisting the firearm around in his hands. His touch was delicate but firm, holding his blaster with a dangerous kind of reverence. Maybe it was because Boba was a weapon himself, but Boba handled his weapons was as if it was an extension of himself, as if there was no place where Boba ended and his weapons began.

He was deadly—deadly and beautiful, _mandokar_ personified. Din’s heart shuddered in his chest. He wanted to reach out and brush his bare fingers across Boba’s _baskar_ , across his scarred face, wanted to feel the texture of burned, sizzled skin under his fingertips. Boba looked at him, face unreadable under his visor.

“We shouldn’t wait out here.” He said, voice rumbling in his chest. “It’s now or never.”

Luke nodded, jaw clenched. “Now or never.”

Kal had told them of a slave and a service entrance on the east and west wings of the building respectively, and Luke eyed the fenced-off walkway to the slave entrance.

“Fett, you and I will go around from the slave entrance. Din, take Fennec through the service. Keep comms on. Once you locate Gurrie send out a signal. Engage if necessary, but we need her alive.”

Din knew exactly which two bounty hunters the rather stern ‘ _alive’_ was directed at.

Boba grunted an affirmative. Slinging his EE-3 over his shoulder, he gave Din a casual two-finger salute.

“May the Force be with you,” Luke said.

Din didn’t like how serious he sounded.

\---

Gurrie’s townhouse was silent and, most alarmingly, _cold._ Not cool, not an absence of heat, genuinely cold with the stone walls raising goosebumps when bare skin brushed against it. Din didn’t know how much water and energy this woman had to be pumping through these walls to cool these hallways that much, but such a waste of water was unacceptable.

The stone floors were marble, veins of pink and grey ghosting through the white stone, and the stone walls had been sanded smooth. Somehow, not a speck of sand was present.

“It’s so karking _clean_ ,” Fennec said, “Nothing on Tatooine is clean. It’s kriffing _Tatooine_.”

Din nodded as they passed by a giant wall hanging— bits of a kryat dragon skeleton dipped in gold leaf and articulated. As they moved further into the building and away from the serving halls, the décor had become more intricate and ridiculous. Din had a feeling that if they followed the increasing gaudiness they would find themselves in the heart of Gurrie’s living halls. Water dripped from a far wall down into a gutter on the floor lined with glittering stones. The water moved through the stone in a trickling stream and little minnows darted around in the water.

“Feel this,” Feenec said, fingertips resting in the water. Din could feel the chill of the water through his glove.

“She must be an offworlder,” He said. “No one from Tatooine would be willing to waste so much water and then exert so much energy into keeping it _cold._ ”

“I say we follow the water. As good a start as any.” Fennec said. Din grunted in agreement.

The white walls and gold décor seemed to go on and on and on, until finally, they came to a glass door. It was unlocked, surprisingly, and when opened the smell of fresh flowers hit his lungs like a speeder. Trees stretched up for stories, branches heavy with vines and fruit, and greenery curled around the floor, dotted with dozens of colors of flora. In the center of the room was a fountain spitting up mist.

“Where is everyone?” Fennec asked. Din had been wondering the same thing. For such a huge townhouse known for owning slaves, they had seen no one.

“Maybe the attacks have scared everyone into hiding for the time being.” Din replied. Fennec hmmed. The water muffled any sound in the room, and Din would like to think that was why he never heard the guard, not out of any incompetence of his own. The shot hit Fennec in the back, burning into her armorless spine. Fennec dropped with a shout and Din spun, firing shots back at their attacker.

The guard had already slipped into the trees, the garden providing him with all the cover he could need, and he opened fire again. Three shots glanced off Din’s _Baskar_ but a fourth slammed into Fennec as she struggled to stand, ripping into her chest. She wheezed, arm crumbling under her, and Din dove in front of her as another shot hit her shoulder. Her breath came out wet and strangled behind him, and Din knew he had to get them out of here. There was no point fighting, not with Fennec incapacitated. He would get her to safety, then move on from there. Din let out a volley of shots in hope of beating back the guard, swooped Fennec up in his arms, careful of her injured back, and bolted down the hallway. He could hear footsteps behind him—two guards, likely—and ran. Fennec grit her teeth as he jostled the blaster blasts and Din tried to send a mental apology to her. The heat of the bolts had mostly cauterized the shots, but blood still leaked out of the holes in her, dripping down her back and smearing on Din’s _baskar_. He wouldn’t let her die on him. He wouldn’t.

He slid down a serving hallway and stopped at the first door he saw. Throwing a glance over his shoulder to be sure the guards weren’t too close, Din adjusted Fennec to free one hand. She hissed and he murmured an apology. It only took one shot to the control panel for the door to slide open. It was a security closet, back wall alight with beeping lights and screens. Din softly placed Fennec on the floor. His grip was slippery with her blood.

“Stay here—”

“Don’t— _ah_ —have much of a choice about that, I think,” She said through grit teeth. Din gave her a stern look that she picked up through his visor. She grinned, her teeth bloody. _Kriff,_ that wasn’t good.

Din clicked his comm and it blinked for a moment, two moments, before Boba’s voice crackled through.

_“What is it, Mando?”_ He grunted.

“Fennec got shot, it’s bad. Spinal injury—” Boba swore “—and she’s bleeding pretty bad.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty,” Fennec wheezed from beside him, and Din rolled his eyes.

“But she’s being snarky, so at least we know she’s not circling the drain. I’ve got her in a security room where I think she’ll be safe—”

“ _You’re not leaving her alone in there, are you--?”_

Din swallowed. He had been planning to. This slaver woman upheld the institution that destroyed Luke’s community, sided with people that tried to destroy Jango Fett. Rubbed elbows with whoever carved Unes’ culture off of his face. But now, listening to Boba’s incredulous tone, a flower of guilt bloomed in his gut.

“No,” He said, “I’m going to guard the outside hall since she can’t exactly guard herself.”

Boba let out a stiff breath. “ _Are you sure? Skywalker and I—”_

“Find the slaver. I’ll take care of Fennec,” Din softened his voice. “I promise.”

Boba cut the line. Din let out a sigh through his nose and turned to look at Fennec. The leather of her shirt was slick with blood seeping from her chest, the blaster bolt parallel to her heart. Din ripped off his cloak and knelt in front of her. He pressed the coarse black fabric to the blaster shot wound. Fennec hissed under the pressure.

“Should have known you were waiting for the best chance to cop a feel.” She said through her teeth, forcing a smile.

“Don’t worry,” Din said as he took her hand and held it in over the wound, pressing down on the fabric and flesh. “You’re not my type. Hold it here and put as much pressure as you can. Don’t move—we need to stabilize your back the best we can.”

“I know how spine injuries work, Mando.” She hissed, eyes squeezed tight.

“Then you know to stay put.”

“What color are your eyes?” She asked suddenly and Din’s head whipped up.

“What?”

“I’ve wondered. You—you can tell a lot from a person’s eyes. A lot—a—about their intentions. But I can’t see yours. So,” She swallowed down blood. “I gotta ask. What color are they?”

Din held a hand over Fennec’s, helping apply pressure. Despite the pain, she looked at him with unwavering determination.

“Brown,” he said finally. “They’re brown.” She nodded.

“Nice color.”

“Glad you think so.”

Din’s head jerked up to one of the screens at the sign of motion from the corner of his eyes. Two guards dressed in white where marching down the next hallway to their hiding spot.

“Stay here. I’ll go get rid of them.” He said, and Fennec let out a shuttering breath. With careful movement’s she drew a blaster from her thigh holster.

“Alright.” She said, blaster in hand. “Guess I get a front-row seat.”

“Do you have a comm?”

“Back pocket. I can’t reach it—”

“I’ve got it,” Din said, slowly tilting her till he could grab it, careful not to jostle her spine. “Keep it on, keep quiet.”

“Not my first time playing hideaway you know,” She said.

“Just stay safe,” Din said before dipping out into the hall.

He realized with a curse that by shooting the door he’d kept it from being able to close. _Kark it all._ He drew one of his blasters and moved silently down the hallway, turning a corner to face the two men.

“Wow,” One said. “So, Brandy was right. There really is a Mandalorian running around. Hey Mando, what clan are you?”

The other snickered. “There aren’t any clans left. They were too busy biting at each other’s throats—”

Din didn’t let him finish. He raised his blaster and let out a volley of shots; they cut through the white cloth easily but bounced off the high-quality permasteel armor under the thin, fancy clothes. The man’s face twisted and he charged.

He had a blaster at his hip, but he didn’t use it, moving instead for the electrostaff on his back. He lunged and Din leaped to the side, pulling his spear free. He jumped back as the second guard swiped at his feet, staff crackling, and Din's knees bent in a fighter’s stance as the two men approached him, electrostaffs held with discomforting ease.

“Do you know how much that baskar costs, Mando?” One of them sneered, and then lunged. Din struck back, slamming into the man’s grasp with the shaft of his spear, then spun and sliced at his gut with the spearhead. It squealed across the permasteel.

“Almost as much as you do. A proper Mando, baskar and all.” He grinned and Din slammed forwards into him, and then his hands stopped working.

He choked as the second guard dug the electrified spearhead of his electrostaff into the small of Din’s back.

_Baskar_ was many things—it protected well against heat, better against cold, and its helmets dampened a Force user's grasp on the mind. It could withstand blaster bolts even at point-blank, and held its own against a lightsaber, against the _Darksaber…_ it was also painfully effective at conducting electricity.

Din’s muscles in his arms tightened and slacked, and his spear slipped out of his hands. He dropped on his hands and knees, wheezing. One guard, which one he wasn’t sure, kicked him onto his back and jammed the electrostaff into his gut.

Din couldn’t hold back a garbled scream as electricity ripped into him, his _baskar_ happily carrying the currents across his body. He couldn’t breathe, could taste ozone in his teeth, eyes focusing and unfocusing rapidly, body numb and on fire all at once.

A guard laughed, the second rolling his eyes at his friend as he forced his electrostaff against Din’s throat.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, just knew everything _hurt_ , impossibly and unfathomably. He tried to claw at the electrified metal but his hands wouldn’t fucking _work_. Nothing would.

Vaguely, he knew the guards were talking above him, but then the spearhead on his neck twisted and everything when black.


	11. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting so hopefully it's not too awful haha! We finally get some thoughts from Boba and Luke! and Gorgu finally makes a proper appearance after like 2 chapters without him. I'm hinting as a secret skill of Boba's, if you can guess it ahead of time u get a cookie
> 
> content warning: description of an arm having been blown off by an explosion, gunshot wounds, boba being violent (we love him anyways) 
> 
> mandoa, as usual!   
> jetii - jedi  
> osik - shit  
> ramikadyc - an attitude that they can do anything, endure anything, and achieve the objective  
> buir - parent  
> vaii buir - where buir?, not proper grammar  
> buir dar - buir gone, also not proper grammar   
> Ni ceta - im sorry, literally i kneel/grovel, an extremely sincere apology  
> gro'ika - little grogu, 'ika is used for pet names. a way of showing affection  
> solus - alone  
> ad'ika - little child, an affectionate way to speak about a child  
> ad - child  
> D'ika - 'little' din, an affectionate pet name for Din (that boba would *never* admit to using)  
> Haat, ijaa, haa'it - truth, honor, vision; said to seal a promise   
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - i love you  
> Bo'buir - specifically calling Boba buir as an additional father.

The hallways of the townhouse were cold. Luke never liked the cold—the first time he stepped foot on Hoth he had thought he might die—but Tatooine always felt like a place where the absence of heat was impossible. Here, surrounded by marble and gold leaf, the air and its chill felt _wrong_.

Beside him, Fett was silent. He kept one hand on his EE-3 at all times, but if his armor was anything like Din’s then there were plenty more weapons hidden in its nooks and crannies. Hanging at his hip was a type of gun Luke had never actually seen in person. The slugger seemed to suck in the Force and distort it around the steel. The weapon hadn’t killed often—it didn’t carry the chill of death—but what it had taken it took violently.

“It’s quiet.” He said softly, as if scared to shatter the still air. Fett nodded.

“Maybe they evacuated when they caught wind of the Trail.”

“You don’t think anyone is here?”

“Maybe a few people, but it just… _feels_ empty. I’d bet there are less than a dozen people here.”

Luke didn’t doubt him. Stretching out with the Force he can feel emptiness, the absence of life, throughout the halls. But there, hidden in the white marble, was a bleeding feeling in the Force that Luke recognized—that he had known since he was a child.

Owning another person tainted someone’s Force signature. It stained the Force black and red with despair and blood. Slavers bled into the Force in a uniquely horrifying way.

“I can feel her,” Luke said, and Fett cocked his head.

“With that _Jetii osik_?” He murmured, and Luke nodded.

“I hear water,” Fett said. Luke strained his ears—now that Fett pointed it out, he could hear it as well. The trickle of water moving across stone. Fett’s comm beeped once, twice, and Fett answered in smooth Mando’a _,_ then, after a glance at Luke, continued in Basic.

“What is it, Mando?” He said, voice gruff. His voice carried a gravely, strained sound that turned a stone of guilt in Luke’s gut—he knew the damage to Boba's vocal cords was from the sarlacc pit. But then, Fett had been ready to kill Han; his scarred face and fried vocal cords were no one’s fault but his own. Luke wasn’t responsible for the bounty hunter’s choices.

 _“Fennec got shot, it’s bad. Spinal injury—”_ Fett let out a colorful string of swears _“—and she’s bleeding pretty bad.”_

 _“Aw, you think I’m pretty,”_ Luke could hear Fennec wheeze somewhere behind Din.

_“But she’s being snarky, so at least we know she’s not circling the drain. I’ve got her in a security room where I think she’ll be safe—”_

“You’re not leaving her alone in there, are you--?” Fett said, sounding strangely panicked.

 _“No,”_ Din said, _“I’m going to guard the outside hall since she can’t exactly guard herself.”_

Fett let out a stiff breath. “Are you sure? Skywalker and I—”

“ _Find the slaver. I’ll take care of Fennec,”_ Din softened his voice. _“I promise.”_

Fett cut off the comm.

“We should go find them,” Luke said. Fett was silent and still for a long moment before he shook his head.

“You heard Din. He has this under control, we need to keep looking for Gurrie.”

“Don’t you _care?”_

Fett whipped around to look at Luke. “I trust Din’s abilities. He told us to find Gurrie, and I trust that he has control of his situation. Do you trust him?”

Luke let out a sigh, shoulders sagging. “Yes. If he said he has control of the situation…”

“Then he has control. Din carries the pure definition of _ramikadyc_ with him. If he says he has a handle on this then he does.”

Luke nodded.

“So, can’t you just, track her with the Force?”

Luke’s face twisted. “That’s not how the Force works. But… I can sense her. Follow me.”

Fett set off behind him and the two of them wound through the hallways, Luke’s hand on his lightsaber, Fett’s on his blaster. The darkness seeping into the walls grew and grew and—

“Something’s wrong,” Fett whispered. Luke turned.

“What?”

“Something’s _wrong—”_

Fett’s comm went off.

“Fennec!” He said, voice strained. “What—”

 _“Boba, I need you here_ right karking now _.”_ The assassin hissed. Luke didn’t know Fennec well, but he certainly knew he had never heard her voice this close to fear before.

“Fennec—”

“ _I’ve hid away best I could but I can't, I can’t fucking move, I can barely feel my legs—”_

“Fennec, _slow down,”_ Fett said, struggling to keep his voice steady, and on the other side of the line, Fennec swallowed wetly.

“ _I’m in a security closet, Mando went outside to keep the hallways clear. There were two men—I could see it through the cameras. They attacked, and Mando couldn’t keep up. They dragged him away, I couldn’t see where but—I couldn’t follow-- I can barely feel my_ karking legs _and—”_

“Fennec, breathe,” Fett said softly into his comm, a surprising amount of care in his voice. “Where are you?”

” _There is a garden—he stuck me two hallways down on the left from there in a side service hallway.”_

“Alright. We’ll handle this. Stay safe.” He clicked the comm off and squared his shoulders. “Alright. How the hell do we find that?”

“I haven’t spent much time around your friend, but I would likely recognize her Force signature if I sensed it.”

“Like a karking metal detector.” Fett snorted, and Luke frowned. He closed his eyes and reached out—for a moment all he felt was water. Swirling, angry waves, a deep ocean that forced away anything that dared to step a toe into its salty mist. Rain poured, suffocating, so thick one might drown even above the waves. Luke’s mind stepped back, flushing in confusion. The waves hid shields, clumsy and unpracticed but strong as iron… strong as _baskar_.

Luke eyed Fett, face unreadable in his helmet. Waves upon waves hiding white, sterile walls. Luke let out a deep breath and ignored it, pocketing the experience to ponder later. He reached out again, searching through the halls. Everything dripped with pain, with despair, with a feeling Luke had associated with slavery since he was a child.

The first time slavery became real for Luke he was five years old. A sandstorm had been ravishing the desert outside the Lars homestead; Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had stuffed rags in the cracks under the doors and settled in the place in the home furthest from any windows, Luke sheltered in their lap. The world was always quiet in their arms during storms. Outside the wind might be howling but in here it was just the three of them, cuddled up together against the world. Uncle Owen would run a rough, callused hand through Luke’s hair and tell him stories—how the Desert Mother came to be, how she created sand to hide her Children from their Masters. How the Suns had been created by the Master so that he might always be able to see his slaves no matter the hour and that they would never be able to rest their heads or hide from him, and how the Desert Mother, filled with love for her Children, had created the Moons, so they might have light to guide them as they Ran from him and found safety in Her arms. Told stories of water made from the spirits of slaves who died under their Masters’ hand, forever protected by the Desert Mother from any soul who dared own another.

Uncle Owen had been in the middle of telling how the Great Krayte Dragon’s brood had been stolen by a Master centuries years ago and how she still mourned, her shrieks of pain and longing stirring up sandstorms, when a desperate knock came at the door. It was panicked and Luke knew immediately, somehow, that whatever was behind the door could not be ignored.

“What the hell is someone doing out in a storm?” Uncle Owen had said, and Luke took hold of his tanned arm.

“You have to open it. It’s important.” He whispered into Uncle Owen’s ear, and with a slightly confused look towards his nephew, he stood. The knock came again, more erratic this time, and Uncle Owen opened the door slightly to keep out the sand.

“What—”

He paled— _oh Great Mother, oh fuck, what’s he going to do, not with Luke right there, no, but there was so much blood—_ and his panicked thoughts hit Luke like a steam train.

“Uncle Owen?” He called, and when his Uncle turned back to him his face was grey.

“Luke, go to your room.”

“Owen?” Aunt Beru asked, and then a particularly strong gust of wind forced the door from Uncle Owen’s hand. There, covered in a fine layer of sand was a Runaway.

Aunt Beru gasped and scrambled to cover Luke’s eyes, but he’d already seen the woman. Short, with her growth likely stunted from a lifetime of malnutrition, and gaunt, black hair hacked close to her scalp, lip split, nose broken and bloody, one eye blackened, the other unfocused. And she only had one arm.

Luke had seen plenty of people with amputations or missing limbs, some with prosthetics and some not, and it didn’t bother him at all. No, what was different here was the _blood._ What was left of the woman’s arm hung limply, flayed skin and muscle hanging down in strings. The limb hadn’t been cut off but blown off, and it still bled steadily, staining their doorstep red.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, “I didn’t know where else to go. I thought I had deactivated it but—but it went off anyways.” The woman let out a sob and stumbled forwards. Uncle Owen caught her and carefully lifted her in his arms.

“Luke—” He called.

“ _Oh…_ ” The woman breathed, looking over his shoulder at Luke. “Oh Desert Mother, he _shines_ …” She shuddered, her face ashen. “He is stardust. Kyber. My—my _Oecc_ always said the strongest hearts are made of kyber and you—you—”

Luke knew she was dead, knew before Aunt Beru-- even before Uncle Owen, and he was holding her. Luke had _felt_ her die, somehow, felt a cold absence of light, like smothering a fire with sand, and he felt hollow, like the world had stopped and might never start again. And as soon as the feeling came it was gone. He felt fingers on his face—Aunt Beru, wiping away tears. She picked him up and held him on her hip, whispering sweet things to him. And at that moment, Luke had known he was somehow _different._

Stardust. _Kyber_.

Aunt Beru took him downstairs to her and Uncle Owen’s bed and tucked him into their sheets, the cotton gritty with sand. She’d crawled in after him and pressed him close to her breast.

“I didn’t know dying felt like that.” Luke hiccuped and Aunt Beru froze. “I—why did you never tell me people dying _felt_ like that?”

Now, as an adult who could remember all too well the smell of Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen’s burning flesh, Luke knew his Aunt’s terror had been in the realization that their little nephew was just like his father. But nothing, not even their deaths, had felt as soul-crushingly awful as watching that woman die. He supposed the first time you sensed death stuck with you the most. That same taint of slavery that had surrounded that slave woman’s Force signature drifted through the townhouse’s empty marble halls. Near the cool breath of water, the oxygen of flora, he found fear, scrambling to hide behind pride and stubbornness, but drawn out by pain.

“I know where she is.” He said, and Fett looked at him expectantly.

“Well?” He growled when Luke didn’t immediately move. “Are we going or not?”

Luke started down the upper left hallway, keeping a hand on the stone wall, feeling for the pulse of plant life along it. They circled up a staircase, the _panic-pride-pain_ growing stronger beside the black sludge that Luke associated with Masters. They cut to the right, then a thinner corridor and—

“She’s in the meeting hall to the right.” Luke hissed.

“Fennec?”

“No, Gurrie.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can feel her. She taints the very space around her.”

Fett ran his fingers over the butt of his slugger. “Go, find her. I’ll get Fennec.”

“We shouldn’t split up—”

“ _Go._ ” Fett growled, his mind flaring, thunder rolling without lightning, and Luke nodded.

“Keep your comm on.” He said, “I don’t want us separated completely.”

Fett gave a jerky nod and then he was already gone, marching down another hall towards the pulsing _panic-pride-pain_ that Fennec was sending out in waves. Luke sighed, steeled himself, and moved to the right.

The door opened, and Gurrie turned.

Two guards stood with her, a man and a woman, dressed in armor painfully reminiscent of stormtrooper armor. The edges were softer, curved, and the plastoid plates were black, gold details curling around the edges. Gurrie herself was pale and stick-thin; her face was too bony and her skin seemed pulled too tight over her bones. Her pantsuit was black and gold, her neck heavy laden with jewelry, and her red hair was piled atop her head and held in place with gold pins.

“Oh look,” she said, voice monotone and almost insultingly bored, “there really is a Jedi running around.”

The guards turned, unclipped metal rods from their belts that extended, the tips crackling with electricity. Luke’s gut went cold—

\-- _The chill of space seeps through the half-finished halls of the second Death Star, but it isn’t as cold as the Emperor—the soul-sucking cold of the Dark side pulls at Luke’s very soul, and somehow Luke has the thought to be surprised he can be both so cold and so excruciatingly hot as lighting licks across his skin. He can’t breathe, can taste ozone in his teeth, muscles spasming as electricity ripped through him._

“ _Father—”_

He steeled himself and shifted his legs apart, steadying his core and centering himself. Now was not the time to dwell on the past, to fall headfirst into a spiral of fear at the sight of a little electricity. Master Yoda had spoken of fear when they worked together.

_“Useful, fear can be, to steady. Release it into the Force, you must, and find calm in its absence.”_

Luke drew his lightsaber; the guards charged. He blocked an overhead swing from the woman, forcing her back which a shove, pushing against the center of her electrostaff with his blade, and spun just in time to duck under the man’s jab. He jammed his elbow into the man’s gut—his plastoid armor cut into Luke’s arm but with the Force behind the movement, it was enough to force the guard to double over. Luke half turned, flinging an arm out and slamming the man into the far wall.

The woman was back on him in an instant, bearing down on him and jabbing the electric end of her staff into his shoulder—

“ _Father—help me—”_

Luke stumbled back, shoulder smoking, leftover spasms jumping through the muscle. The man had recovered, stalking forward. Luke caught his breath, releasing his anxiety into the Force. He sunk into its cushioning embrace, letting it alert and move him, spinning out of the way at its call just in time for the man and women to slam into each other, the woman’s electrostaff spinning out of her hand.

Luke sliced down at it, severing it in two, and its ends flared with purple sparks before fizzling down. The woman balled her fists and swung at Luke; he ducked, the Force tugging him this way and that, warning him of her movements, and he caught her fist, jerking her arm down and slamming her into the marble floor. She didn’t move.

The man spun his electrostaff, face thunderous. Luke caught his swing with his lightsaber, forcing the plasma through the thick, electrified metal, and the man stumbled back as his staff split in two. Luke slammed the butt of the hilt of his saber into the man’s temple and he dropped, out cold.

Luke spun as Gurrie drew her blaster and fired. The bullet ricocheted off his blade. Gurrie kept her blaster level, thin face dark and red. Luke felt slimy satisfaction grow over her anger, staining the Force around her a putrid green.

“To think that the few Jedi left have become so lowly that they’d dirty their hands working for slaves.” She said, voice silky smooth and disgusting. “Do you know what they do to Jedi on spice freighters?”

Luke took a step forward and she fired again. The red bolt hit his blade, smashing into the white stone.

“They take a chip the side of the nail on your pinky finger and tangle it up in your spinal cord. It suppresses the Force—you’ll be just like us for the rest of your shitty little life. Though most don’t last long in spice mines. I’ve implanted three so far—let’s make it an even number, shall we? Shall we make it four?”

She pressed a finger to her comm and dropped with a scream as a _bang!_ rang through the room. Blood sprayed behind her as a fine pink mist. She curled in on herself on the floor as red leaked out of her onto the white pristine stone. A ragged hole had been ripped into her chest, near her right breast. Fett relaxed his arm but did not lower it, slugger smoking in his hand.

Luke had seen sluggers before but never its metal bullets at work. It was nothing like the neat, almost cauterized blaster blots of a power pack. By the Force, the sheer amount of _blood—_

Fett stood in the doorway, Fennec cradled in his arms. Her face was ashy and covered in a thin layer of sweat, eyelids fluttering. Fett leaned her against the wall slowly, almost reverently.

He turned back to Gurrie, stalking up to her. She whimpered and scrambled back on her hands, chest leaking down her pantsuit.

“ _Please—”_

“Oh, now she begs,” Fett said, voice dark and raspy. Luke had only heard the bounty hunter sound like that when Luke was facing him down before Jabba. This was the voice of a mercenary, of a man who didn’t care to get blood on his hands.

”I can give you—”

_BANG_

Luke flinched as Fett shot her exposed thigh. Gurre looked up at Fett with teary eyes.

“Where did your men take him?” He growled. Gurrie’s lip trembled.

“I—I don’t—”

“The Mando, where did your men take him?” He stepped forward and ground his boot into the gaping hole in her thigh. Gurrie screamed, jerking under his boot, and Fett pushed harder.

“Fett!” Luke cried, grabbing his elbow, but the bounty hunter shrugged him off.

“I—it was a good, good business decision, a Jedi, a famous bounty hunter, a full-blooded _Mand_ —” Gurrie’s scream cut her off as the toe of Fett’s boot slipped into the wound. Tears streamed down her face as she writhed underneath him.

“That wasn’t the question I asked.”

“He’s, he’s gone. Probably off-planet by now. Didn’t want to wait for all three of you on the same ship, sounded dan—dan—dangerous. Please, _please_ —”

“Where is it going?”

“Fett,” Luke hissed, “That’s enough—”

“I won’t be bullied by a brute like you!” She wheezed, and blood spurted from her thigh as Fett stomped down. Her scream echoed off the marble walls.

“ _Where_?”

“The Ed, Ed, Edard system.” She sobbed. “I’m just a collector, I’m not in charge of the merchandise. I just do what he tells me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know his name!”

“ _Who?”_

 _“I don’t know!”_

“Stars, you’re worthless,” Fett growled, drawing his slugger.

“Fett don’t!” Luke grabbed Fett’s wrist but he wrenched his arm out easily and without a second of hesitation aimed for Gurrie’s head and fired.

The bang echoed as her face exploded in a blast of red and gore, grey brain matter splattering all over them. The feeling of the life leaving her so violently was a punch to the gut in the Force.

“What the _fuck,_ Fett?” Luke yelled, and Luke could feel his sneer even under the helmet.

“She wasn’t of any use anymore.”

“We agreed to bring her in alive!”

“That was before she shot up Fennec and dragged Djarin off-planet! Don’t you even fucking care?”

“Don’t you dare say that—”

Fennec let out a shuddering moan and Fett was at her side at an instant.

“I’m here, Fen.” He said as he knelt down. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

Slowly, carefully, as if he hadn’t just blown a woman’s brains out, he lifted Fennec and cradled her in his arms.

“We need to get out of here.” He said, Fennec’s head resting on his shoulder. Luke frowned, looking back at Gurrie’s mutilated body. “She needs a bacta tank and we need to figure out what to do about… about Din.” His voice trailed off and while the modulator of the helmet made emotion difficult to hear, the ocean surrounding him was churning and black.

Luke swallowed. Looking away from the gore, he looked into Fett’s visor and nodded.

\---

The trip back to his palace—which still felt strange to say—was near-silent between Boba and Skywalker. A handful of freed slaves had still been loading supplies onto their far-too-small freighter and agreed to give them a lift back. One of them had tried to take Fennec from him and Boba growled in his face, holding her tighter. Instead, they offered as many bandages and bacta as they had and a back room for privacy.

“I can help—it’ll be hard with one person,” Skywalker said with that stupidly earnest voice of his, and Boba all but slammed the door in his face. It felt good to show the rage building in him, because if he didn’t hold onto this rage then the trembling fear with Din so far away would swallow him up.

He laid Fennec down on the bench that had been made into a makeshift bed and slowly peeled off her shirt.

“Damn, Boba.” She wheezed, “I thought we agreed that was a one time thing.”

Boba took off his helmet. He gently shushed her. “Save your strength.”

“Kark you.”

He gently cleaned the congealing blood from her shoulder and breast and then rubbed bacta gel into the blaster bolt burns. He taped gauze squares on top and laid her back down.

“Stay still.” He undid her braid and ran his scarred fingers through her hair. She tilted her head into his hand. “I said _still_.”

“If a little head tilt is going to be what paralyzes me then we have bigger problems to deal with.”

They stayed like that the whole low flight to his palace, his hand in her hair watching the rise and fall of her bare chest, desperately clinging to any anger he could.

\---

The wind was starting to pick up when they arrive. A sandstorm was coming. Boba draped Fennec’s jacket over her to give her some modesty and passed her off to the first medic he saw—Rev—to place in a bacta tank. She’d be fine. They’d make sure she was. Boba just had to make sure he didn’t forget that.

It was getting harder to find some way to cover the growing grief in his chest and his last strings of anger fade when Unes, the scarred Kiffar Din had taken a liking to, gave him Grogu.

Unes tilted his head in a question as Boba, not Din, settled Grogu in his arms. Slowly, Boba shook his head and the Kiffar rested a hand on his shoulder in silent solidarity. For some reason, Boba didn’t shove him off.

“ _Buir_?” Grogu asked, squirming in his arms to look for Din. “ _Vaii buir_?”

Boba let out a shuddering sigh and walked through the darkening hallways away from the entrance room full of freed slaves. The dim light was blessed on his karked up eyes. Sarlacc acid didn’t avoid corneas just because you wanted it to.

“ _Buir? Buir_!?” Grogu was becoming increasingly distressed now and finally, Boba slid down against a wall and settled on the floor, holding Grogu close to his chest.

“ _Buir_ isn’t going to be around for a while.” He said softly in Mando’a. “He—A very bad woman took him away. But we will find him. We won’t let them hurt your _buir_. I promise.”

“ _Buir dar_?” Grogu said, eyes impossibly wide. Boba swallowed.

“ _Buir dar_.”

Gorgo shook his head, letting out a pained whine, and hit his little hands against Boba’s chest. Boba held him tighter, closer.

“ _Ni ceta, Gro’ika, ni ceta, ni ceta_.” He whispered against Grogu’s head and was ashamed at the hot tears that slipped down his face.

“ _Solus_ …” Grogu whined. _Alone._

The _ad’ika’s_ voice grew shriller and shriller—“ _Solus, solus, solus_ —” and Boba’s shaky shields were no match for the little one. His panicked despair ripped through them in seconds, leaving the white lights burst, white walls shattered.

‘ _Solus’_

_“We’re going to play hide and seek, okay?” A Rodian woman in Jedi robes says, clutching him to her chest, and she and a small group of children run through the halls of red carpet and white stone. Blaster fire echoes around them, each one followed by screams. She places him down in a room filled with fountains and the children scatter, fear so thick it is choking him, and he squeezes under a fountain motor, a spot only he could ever find, being as small as he was. He watches white armored boots enter the room._

_‘Solus’_

_The blaster fire seems to go on forever—_

_‘Solus’_

_Bodies drop—_

_‘Solus’_

_The room smells of smoke and death and he is alone… alone…_

The images Grogu was forcing into Boba _hurt_ , pulled at his brain and pounded inside his skull, and Boba couldn’t stop crying.

“You’re not alone, I promise _Gro’ika_ ,” He said, trying to calm the _ad_ , “I won’t leave you, we’ll find him, I _promise—”_

_The dirt is orange underneath him and the body is stiffening and the head is right there—right there!—with wide staring eyes, and he kneels over his buir’s cold baskar covered body with numb horror. He was alone, his buir had left him and he was alone, he was always going to be alone. It was always supposed to be the two of them, the Fett legacy, Boba and Jango against the world but now he was alone, alone, alone—_

**STOP!**

Boba forced the thought as loud as he could into the space Grogu had carved for the two of them and Grogu’s thoughts stumbled to a stop.

“You are not alone like me. My _buir_ is gone. He is not coming back. But your _buir,_ my _D’ika, is not gone._ We will find him. We will get him back. I promise _. Haat, ijaa, haa'it_.”

Grogu was silent for a moment, ears dropped and trembling.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Bo’buir_.” He whispered, and Boba’s breath caught in his throat. Slowly he ran a finger down one of Grogu’s ear and pressed a kiss to his wrinkly head.

_“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Gro’ika.”_


End file.
